


Playing Different Tunes

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hallucinations, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Robbery, Soul Bond, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was doing his best to ignore the human in the back corner of the Tetra Luna, his coffee house, but his wolf was interested and wasn’t taking no for an answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my submissions for the 2015 Hurt/Comfort Bingo; it's an Extra with five prompts covered in one story. There was no beta for this hot mess (an AU story with some canon elements) so all mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading my attempt to wrap five disparate h/c prompts into one (semi) cohesive story.

Playing Different Tunes

 

_And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear_  
_You shout and no one seems to hear._  
_And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes_  
_I'll see you on the dark side of the moon._

\- Lyrics to “Brain Damage” by Roger Waters

Act I

Derek was doing his best to ignore the human in the back corner of the Tetra Luna, his coffee house, but his wolf was interested and wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Erica, his sassy new hire, threw a towel at his head; he barely caught it, his attention firmly entrenched in the corner and not at the two customers waiting to give their java orders. She smirked as she looked from Derek, to the corner, and back at him. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and clear the tables? I can handle the register and prepare the drinks solo for a while,” she said as she thrust the plastic tub for bussing the tables into his gut. When he hesitated she made the shooing motion and when he still didn’t move, she hip-checked him. Hard. Hiring other wolf shifters, like Erica, definitely made his life easier in some ways but it was hard to hide his attraction from others of his kind.

Derek methodically worked his way from table to table, clearing and wiping as he went. The coffee house wasn’t just an investment—it was his pride and joy—and he put all of his energy into keeping it clean and comfortable. He balanced the heavy tub on his hip, pleased the post work rush was winding down. Business was definitely booming but it was nice to see the suits and students clearing out.

He left the table in the corner for last. 

Derek had been observing the attractive brunet since he came in three hours ago. The guy was in his early 20’s, probably a student if his focus on the laptop was any indication, and he was adorable with big brown eyes that occasionally stared at the world from behind black-framed glasses, a black knit cap pulled over messy dark brown strands that contrasted nicely with pale skin dotted with moles. And those pink lips, which more times than not had something—a pen, a straw, a cookie and the one memorable time the glass frames, rested between the perfect pout. He sometimes mumbled to himself, which only endeared him further to Derek.

If he was lucky, the guy wouldn’t smell good and his wolf would let it go. Crap. As he took the final steps leading to the table, he parsed the separate scents from the pervasive coffee smell—vanilla, cinnamon and…pecans? His wolf wanted to roll around on the floor in delight. No, his wolf wanted to roll around on the guy.

He was fucked.

Actually, if he got his way then the guy would be fucked. By Derek. That very night.

Derek gave himself an invisible backhand to the face in an attempt to rein himself in. When he once again focused on his surroundings he realized the adorable, fantastic smelling human was staring up at him, brown eyes blinking, eyebrows arched in question. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

The voice was low and smooth and Derek was definitely fucked.

“Sorry, no, I don’t think we’ve met but I’d like to remedy that now.” Derek balanced the tub on a nearby table and put his hand out. “I’m Derek Hale, proprietor of the Tetra Luna.”

The other man accepted the handshake, his grip firm but not like he was trying to prove his masculinity through its strength. “I’m Miles Martin, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I really like your place here. I hope it’s okay that I’ve practically put down roots back here.”

Derek nodded to the empty chair at the table. “May I join you?”

The guy—Miles—nodded his agreement and then proceeded to knock over his coffee mug as he rushed to close his laptop. Derek intercepted the tide of coffee spilling across the table with the towel in one hand while he grabbed the laptop up to safety with his other.

“I’m so sorry! I’m not super coordinated and I’m always spilling things and just. Wow. You’re reaction time was impressive. I bet you rock at Call of Duty.”

When Miles took a breath, his face pink with embarrassment or just from talking so long without oxygen, Derek smiled with as much sex appeal as he could muster. “I rock at lots of things, Miles. In fact I’d really like to rock your world. Will you please join me for dinner?” So much for sweeping Miles off his feet with his suave tongue. He cringed, wishing he could recall his words. 

Miles smiled, his eyes lighting up more brightly, which Derek didn’t even think was possible. Was it possible Miles was going to ignore the corny come-on? “Does that line really work? Oh my God.” Nope. Apparently not.

The doorbell chimed and they both automatically turned to see the new customer entering the establishment. It was a guy, probably closer to 40 than 30, wearing an orange Giants cap, black hoodie, and dark sunglasses. Maybe the guy was trying out his costume for Halloween or something. Derek dismissed him, returning his attention to Miles, wondering if he was going to get a second chance or be sent packing.

Before he could say anything, Miles tensed. “Derek, be cool, but at your 6 we’ve got a problem.”

Derek’s eyes shot to the large vintage man in the moon clock dominating the back wall, the face clearly showing the time as being after 7. His confusion must have plainly shown because Miles gave a snort of disbelief. “Your 6, as in behind you?” The tone tacked on Dumbass even though he held back the words. His wolf rumbled with displeasure, unhappy that Derek seemed to be blowing his chance with the human.

Miles stood up slowly and stepped around Derek, heaving the plastic tub into his arms. Without a word, he made his way to the front counter where Erica was waiting on the man dressed in Halloween colors. She squeaked, her face scrunched in dismay, as the man pulled something out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

There were no signs of clumsiness when Miles approached the counter silently. Without the human clouding his senses, Derek finally figured out what the younger man had been trying to tell him—someone was trying to rob the Tetra Luna. Who tried to rob a place staffed by werewolves? A fucking idiot, that’s who.

Erica was frantically trying to wave off Miles with facial contortions but he either couldn’t read the panic in her eyebrows twitching—she wasn’t afraid of being shot herself, but worried for the human—or he ignored the message. Derek was already approaching the counter when Miles smacked the heavy plastic tub, filled with breakables, into the customer who now held a gun. As expected, the porcelain tableware spilled all over the place, making such a racket that both Erica and Derek flinched. That didn’t prevent Derek from inserting himself between the pissed off guy and Miles.

His heroics were unnecessary, as the gun-toting fool had slammed his gun down on the counter to clutch at his arm, which had taken the brunt of Miles’s plastic and porcelain assault. “I think you broke my arm, asshole!”

Miles was trying to reach around Derek to get at the guy and Derek ended up having to bodily hold him off. Not that his body minded the contact. At least until the previously deep, mellow voice was higher, strident and booming in his ear. “I’ll break more than that!”

It took more strength than Derek had anticipated to control the human’s movements as Miles was bent on damaging the would-be robber some more. He would’ve applied the adjectives lithe and lanky to Miles before but trying to manage his physical response he was thinking durability and tensile strength were more apt. The guy was definitely stronger than he looked which was a huge turn on. 

Apparently Miles agreed as he quit fighting to get to the gunman and instead stared at Derek, his pupils dilating with arousal. His scent was also strong with sexual excitement, so much so that Erica’s nose was scrunched up and Derek couldn’t tell if she was disgusted by this show of attraction or interested.

As the man clutched at his arm, Erica grabbed the work phone and dialed 911. “Yes, I’d like to report an attempted robbery. We were able to disarm the thief and he’s complaining of a broken arm.” Once Erica had assured the dispatcher no one was hurt, other than the gunman, and gave the address, she was told a squad car would be there shortly.

Derek grabbed the coffee-stained towel draped over Miles’s shoulder and flung it over the gun before scooting it across the counter. The man, practically writhing in pain, ignored the movement. Erica moved out from behind the counter and stood between the man and the door, cutting off his exit route. Derek continued to shield Miles from the man, holding him closer than was normal for just having met.

Miles rubbed at the back of his neck, his biceps flexing the material of the navy button down shirt. “So. Umm. Is that offer of dinner and what did you call it, oh, that’s right—rocking my world—still open?”

Pulling the younger man closer until he rested against his chest, Derek rumbled his assent. “God, yes. Just as soon as I’ve dealt with the police.”

The man pressed closer until Derek widened his stance, Miles now resting between his legs until their denim-clad cocks rubbed together.

“Ack! Guys, please, I’m still here.” Erica yelped from behind him.

Brushing his mouth against the bright pink lips he found so fascinating, Derek realized he’d found out yet another important thing about the object of his affections: He was spunky, observant and prepared to defend others.

Miles had many pleasing attributes, which appealed to both Derek’s human and wolf sides.

He was looking forward to seeing if they matched up in other areas.

-0-

“So Derek, you and Miles have been inseparable since the foiled Great Coffee House Robbery. May I ask what your intentions are toward my brother?” Lydia Martin, Miles’s sister, asked while arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. Miles slunk low in his seat, wishing he could sink into the floor.

He loved his sister but this was beyond embarrassing.

Before he could put her in her place, Derek responded. “I care very deeply for Miles and I’d like to take him up north to our family cabin for a long weekend so we can explore things further.”

Miles sat up straight, excitement thrumming in the pit of his stomach. He managed to knock his glass of wine over but Derek’s hand miraculously shot out, righting it before a single drop of red stained Lydia’s white Irish linen tablecloth. 

Not for the first time Miles wondered if Derek was an otherworldly being. His beauty, his reflexes, his body…concentrate. The important fact here was that he and Derek had been seeing each other almost every day for the last month and Miles had wanted to broach the subject of their relationship status but he was still leery of scaring away the most beautiful human-being he’d ever meant. By beautiful he meant both inside and out. 

Derek was twenty-eight and despite being only four years older than Miles, he was accomplished; he already owned his own successful business. He was both respectable and respectful. Serious minded yet he had a wicked sense of humor. His body was sculpted, as were his cheekbones. He was unfailingly patient with Miles. His only complaint was that Derek was a bit mysterious in certain aspects of his life but so was Miles so they were a good fit.

Their sex life was beyond description. Miles hadn’t known his body was capable of coming so many times, or that moving it into certain positions could achieve such results. Derek was both a forceful and considerate lover.

The foreboding look on Lydia’s face morphed into relief. “That’s wonderful. I’m really happy to hear that.” She reached out and squeezed Miles’s wrist, the non-verbal ‘I love you’ the two used when in front of others.

His boyfriend—if Derek was taking him to a cabin then he figured that title could be used—cleared his throat. “Not that I don’t appreciate your good opinion of our relationship, but it seems like you have something else on your mind.”

Had Miles mentioned Derek’s intuitiveness? Except at Tetra Luna, when the gorgeous man had all but ignored the unfolding situation until the last moment when he’d placed himself between Miles and the robber. Any points he’d lost with his cheesy come-on had been added back plus more when Derek had been willing to bodily protect Miles. And what a body he used.

“I haven’t told Miles this yet, but I’m going to London to visit my boyfriend. I’ll be gone for fourteen days and I wanted to make sure I was leaving Miles in good hands.”

Miles was pleased Lydia was going to spend time with Jackson but despite being the same age, his sister insisted on treating him like he was a child. He found her behavior odd since they were the same age. Then again they weren’t twins but they shared the same name and he never questioned it; Miles didn’t remember much of his time before they came to San Francisco to attend college. 

Oh. Lydia treated him like he was unstable, which, although he tended to forget his memory loss (and no, the irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him) he supposed made sense. She must have her reasons for treating him like he was fragile although she promised he hadn’t done anything wrong or hurt anyone.

_She’s lying to you. You can’t trust her._

Ignoring the voice in his head, he concentrated on his current situation. Miles would have to discuss some of these issues with Derek. It wasn’t fair to hide the fact he might be a whack-job from his boyfriend. Although maybe not during this trip to the cabin up north that promised to be filled with hours of sex.

“Miles, since I cooked why don’t you clean up the kitchen? I’m going to Skype Jackson and let him know I’ll be there next week.”

Jackson wasn’t Miles’s favorite person although he knew his sister was crazy about him. “Tell him I say hi. And that he’d better treat you right.”

Lydia, who always tried to present herself as sophisticated and mature, actually rolled her eyes at him. In front of Derek. 

Tugging Derek to his feet he then towed him to the kitchen where the pots and dishes were neatly stacked. Lydia had already rinsed everything, too, so cleanup wouldn’t take long at all. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

Derek frowned but his pretty hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. “But I’m a guest, invited here for a meal. You now want me to work off my dinner?”

Miles picked up the dishtowel and flung it at his boyfriend who deftly caught it. “The faster we clean up, the faster we can make out.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Derek paused to sniff, “I’d think you only wanted me for my body.”

“Too right you are, Mr. Hale.” He activated the stopper, ran the water and added the dish detergent. “Now let’s get a-cracking.”

Derek gave that full body laugh that always made Miles smile in response. His greatest joy resulted in amusing the man. He couldn’t remember a happier time in his life. His smile dimmed a bit; unfortunately he couldn’t remember earlier times in his life at all.

His boyfriend, and no, that wouldn’t ever get old, bumped his hip lightly with his own. “What’s wrong?”

Add perceptive to the growing list of adjectives to be applied to one Mr. Derek Hale.

“I, uh, haven’t mentioned this to you before because I didn’t want to scare you off.” His attention remained firmly on the pot he was scrubbing, afraid to see Derek’s reaction. “There are some holes missing in my memory. It’s something you should know about me.”

_He won’t want you when he realizes how crazy you are._

Miles continued to ignore that stupid voice. The therapist had wanted to have him committed but Lydia had told him to quit therapy, that things would fall into place when his mind was ready.

Derek reached over and turned off the water before putting his hands on Miles’s shoulder and turning him until they faced each other. His boyfriend put a finger under his chin and raised his face. “Hey, there’s nothing about you that could ever scare me away. Now tell me about your memory. What exactly is missing?”

Swallowing audibly, Miles stared into those thickly lashed hazel eyes. “Um, almost everything before I came here to attend college?”

He looked away, not wanting to see the pity, or worse, on Derek’s face.

Lydia’s voice called from her bedroom, breaking the moment. “Miles, come say hello to Jackson!”

Excusing himself, Miles arrived in Lydia’s bedroom although he didn’t remember taking the steps. Not remembering. He snorted. What a surprise.

His sister stared at him with concern. “Hey, are you okay? You know you don’t have to explain anything to Derek.”

The man on the laptop interrupted before he could answer. “Jesus, Stilinski, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Lydia hissed, “Jackson, call him Miles,” but he wasn’t really paying attention. The lasagna was sending waves of reflux up his esophagus and his head ached so sharply, black dots were swimming in his field of vision.

Derek was suddenly there. Strong, quiet, commanding Derek. He guided Miles to his own bedroom and pulled back the comforter. He was efficiently stripped of his shoes, socks, jeans and button-down shirt, left shivering in his t-shirt and boxer-briefs. Soon he was lying on his side, Derek curled behind him, his muscular arm pinned around Miles’s middle. It ought to feel restrictive but he only felt comfort. 

Derek nuzzled the back of his neck, his moist breath on his skin contributing to the relaxation of his body. Between one inhalation and the next, Miles fell asleep.

-0-

Miles had been a little more quiet than usual. Maybe others wouldn’t notice it, but it was quite a change from the bubbly, witty, young man Derek had met at Tetra Luna over a month ago. 

Derek could pinpoint the exact moment Miles began to withdraw from him—it began after Derek had walked in on the scene between Lydia, her boyfriend and Miles. First Lydia had called Miles out of the kitchen right when they were discussing Miles’s memory loss. It was as if she’d known they were having a heavy discussion and she wanted to protect Miles. Or herself.

When Derek had followed behind Miles he’d heard the chiseled Adonis on Skype refer to him as Stilinski, which was weird. Even more weird was the fact Derek saw this Jackson’s eyes flash—a giveaway for shifters and other supernatural creatures.

Armed with this new information, Derek had done some research when Miles wasn’t by his side. He’d discovered Miles was really Stiles Stilinski, late of Beacon Hills, and involved in several mass killings in that city although he’d been cleared of charges.

Stiles Stilinski’s father was still alive—a county sheriff no less—back in Beacon Hills but he didn’t have a sister. In fact he didn’t appear to be related to Lydia Martin at all and Lydia Martin was her legal name.

Unless Miles, or Stiles as he’d begun to think of him in his head, was an accomplished liar, or a witch, which he would’ve sensed, he had no memory of having lived in Beacon Hills or having left behind a father. Derek had introduced the topic of Beacon Hills to the younger man who seemed oblivious to the city north of San Francisco. That had only made Derek dig more.

“So Miles, if someone had some information regarding your life prior to moving to San Francisco, would you want to know about it?” Derek asked as he guided the Toyota FJ Cruiser around some potholes. The road leading to the cabin was in disrepair and Derek hoped his boyfriend wouldn’t get carsick as they bumped along.

Anxiety and indecision wafted from Miles, the younger man giving off such strong chemo-signals it made Derek want to sneeze. Derek reached out and grabbed the hand Miles was holding up to his mouth, nibbling at the ragged cuticles. Miles relaxed at the contact and that pleased Derek more than he could say. His boyfriend trusted him on some level. He could work with that.

“I’ve tried to ask Lydia and she told me not to poke at it, that I’d remember when my mind was ready to remember.” He paused, staring out the windshield although Derek was pretty certain if quizzed, Miles wouldn’t be able to describe any of the landscape. He might be looking but he wasn’t seeing. “I’ve been having…something. Maybe flashbacks. I don’t know. It started after Jackson called me by another name.”

Miles tilted is head as though listening to someone. Derek had noticed he’d been doing that with more frequency but he didn’t want to overload him with too many questions. 

Derek squeezed Miles’s hand, not sure if it was to ground the younger man or himself. “Yeah, about that. I heard what he called you and I sort of did a little research.”

Amusement began to replace anxiety in the air. “Sort of? You either did or you didn’t, Derek. Which is it?” His tone matched his chemo-signals.

“Well then I admit to having researched the name Stilinski. Do you want to know what I found out?” Derek asked.

The tension was back, not only in the chemo-signals but also in the straight line of Miles’s spine. “I don’t know? Did I hurt anyone? Am I crazy?”

Derek wanted to take things slow. He wanted to help Miles, not cause a setback. “I found out your last name is Stilinski, you used to answer to the nickname Stiles, and you lived in Beacon Hills.”

“Stiles. What’s a Stiles?” Miles sounded appalled.

“I gather it’s a nickname for Stilinski. Do you want to know more?” Derek queried. He didn't want to force the information on Miles.

Miles took a moment to think it over. “I think I’d like to stop there if that’s okay. I don’t have a migraine which tends to happen when I start to remember or think too hard about what’s missing.”

“That’s fine, Miles, we’ll go at your pace.” Derek took his hand off the steering wheel and squeezed his boyfriend's hand.

“Um, this might sound strange but do you think you could call me Stiles? Miles never seemed to fit me and I thought maybe Stiles would feel more natural.”

“Of course. Stiles. I like it. Very original. Just like you.”

Miles, no Stiles, snorted. “Hey Derek—“

Derek slammed on the brakes, fishtailing in the mud, as a buck bounded on to the road mere feet from the Toyota. The vehicle caught traction and they shuddered to a stop, the buck going on its merry way, oblivious to how close it had come to injury or death.

“Are you okay?” Derek barked, turning his head when Stiles didn’t respond quick enough.

His boyfriend was slumped against his seatbelt, rubbing the side of his head. “I think I’m okay. Just hit my head on the window. Are you okay?” Stiles turned his head, his black-framed glasses askew, to stare back at Derek.

“Of course. Wicked fast reflexes and all that. We should be at the cabin in fifteen minutes. Unless you need me to take you back into town?”

“No. I’m made of sterner stuff than that. I’m looking forward to getting off the road though.”

Derek leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss across moist, pink lips. When he sat back, the glasses were still sitting cockeyed on Stiles’s face so he re-settled them until they sat straight. “Better?”

“You can kiss it better whenever you like.” Derek had been asking about seeing better with the glasses sitting straight but he definitely liked Stiles’s answer; he had been afraid he’d shattered the romantic mood by talking to Stiles about his past but that didn’t seem to be an issue, at least not at the moment.

The Toyota began bouncing laboriously over the uneven road. Derek had such high hopes for this time away. He hoped almost plowing down the Great Prince of the Forest from Bambi wasn’t some sort of omen.

-0-

Stiles. His names was Stiles. More specifically his nickname was Stiles. It was odd but as Derek had pointed out, original. Odd and original fit him like a glove.

_Not original, weird._

Ignoring the voice, Miles turned as Derek brought the last bags in from the car, filled with foodstuffs. They were definitely going to eat like kings on this vacation. Although Stiles had to do some writing on his thesis if he was going to remain on pace to finish it in time.

Stiles clambered to his feet from his perch on the overstuffed, completely comfortable sofa, to join Derek in the kitchen. They moved around the spacious room, putting the groceries away as if their movements had been choreographed. Stiles even silently congratulated himself for not tripping or running into Derek. 

“What’s so funny?” The words weren’t spoken loudly but they startled Stiles as they dropped into the quiet. He stumbled and would’ve hit the floor if Derek hadn’t snagged him around the waist to keep him upright.

“Thanks. Sorry for being so clumsy.” He always apologized, probably ad nauseam, but then again he felt like he spent the majority of his life either almost knocking something, including himself, over.

Derek pressed a kiss to the top of his head. That wasn’t where Stiles wanted to be kissed. He turned around until they face one another. “I think I have a boo-boo?”

His boyfriend was clearly perplexed by this. “A boo-boo?”

“Yeah, an owie. I need you to kiss it and make it all better.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where is this owie?”

Stiles pointed to his lips. “Right here.”

“I think I can help you with that.”

Derek cradled the back of his head with one hand and rested the other on his spine. He was manipulated until his boyfriend had his head tilted at the correct angle. When Derek’s tongue slipped between his lips and began to engage his own tongue, he moaned. He couldn’t help it; he loved when Derek took control like this.

He plastered himself to Derek’s front, pleased that he was only an inch or so shorter as that meant their bodies lined up where it counted. The hand cradling his head was clenching, tugging at his messy strands, and that little bit of pain was an incredible turn on.

Bang!

Something knocked against the outside wall and they pulled back from each other. Derek’s eyes flashed a brilliant blue before he bodily moved Stiles behind him, putting Derek between the perceived threat and Stiles.

His heart would’ve been melting at Derek’s protective streak if he weren’t trying to figure out how hazel eyes could turn into bright blue.

Derek was out the door before Stiles could articulate his question. He could hear his boyfriend moving around outside and he grabbed his phone, at the ready to call 911. He punched in his password and pulled up his email without thinking; he needed to pay attention to what was going on outside but he always checked his email when he turned on his phone. When he glanced down he discovered he didn’t have any Internet access.

No Internet access meant…fuck. He wasn’t going to be able to work on his thesis. Well he could work on it but he wouldn’t have access to his other documents. Grrr. He shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“What’s the matter?”

Stiles jumped. He was happy Derek was unharmed but seriously, no Internet?

“I don’t have access out here,” he waved his phone dramatically. “Do you?”

He could read the answer in Derek’s chagrinned face. “No?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “So what was it?”

“What was what?”

“Jesus, Derek, what knocked into the house that had your eyes turning blue and you bolting out of the cabin to investigate?”

“My eyes? You saw…crap.”

“I know there’s something special about you. Your reflexes for one; no one is that freaky fast. Your hearing is way above average. Now your eyes turn blue when you’re startled? It’s like you’re one of the characters in my thesis story.” Stiles pressed on.

Derek's eyebrows pulled taut giving him a completely perplexed look. “You lost me. What about your characters?”

“They’re shapeshifters.”

Derek swallowed convulsively and his complexion paled, at least as much as it could with its olive tone. “Yeah. About that. There’s a reason I wanted to bring you up here.”

“What, you want to sacrifice me, eat my heart to gain unimaginable strength?” Stiles asked, mostly kidding.

Derek honest-to-God gaped at Stiles. He didn’t think his supernaturally handsome boyfriend could make such an unattractive face but there it was. Stiles was tempted to pull his phone out and snap a picture but he didn’t think that would go over very well.

“Where the hell do you get these ideas from?” Derek asked, still looking gobsmacked.

“Well, I’m working on my Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at the California College of the Arts in San Francisco. What does that tell you about me?”

This time Derek rolled his eyes and he did it so hard, Stiles expected them to eject out the back of his head. Gross. He needed to remember that for a future plot point though.

“Come sit down,” Derek grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the comfy couch. “I am a shapeshifter. A werewolf to be exact. I come from a large family of shifters but unfortunately only my sister, who is the alpha, and I are still alive.”

Stiles blinked at Derek. Then he pinched himself to make sure he was awake. 

“Stop that, you’ll bruise.” Derek grabbed both of Stiles’s hand in his own. “Um, aren’t you going to say something? Tell me I’m crazy?”

“Absolutely not. This is the best news ever! My boyfriend is a werewolf. Can you flash your eyes at me again? What else can you do?”

Derek pulled one hand back to rub over his face tiredly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know why I was worried you would call me a crazy liar and refuse to have anything to do with me. I know you’re smart and creative, I should’ve known you would embrace this new reality.”

Stiles launched himself into Derek’s lap. “Are you kidding me? This is way better than my thesis story. You have to tell me everything.”

He wasn’t sure why it didn’t occur to him to question Derek’s veracity. He trusted him. Every bit as much as he trusted Lydia. 

Shifters…having seen Derek in action over the last month it wasn’t any stretch at all to recognize something supernatural was in play.

His world seemed to suddenly make a bit more of sense. He wondered if he knew anyone else who was a shifter.

-0-

Derek probably shouldn’t have brought the fragile human with him, for his own safety, but his wolf hadn’t been comfortable at the thought of leaving him behind. The human side of Derek had agreed.

He’d wanted to observe the full moon at his family’s cabin with the human he was fast beginning to consider his mate at his side. He’d never dreamed Stiles—he was still getting used to the moniker but he had to admit it fit the young man better than Miles—would take the news so gracefully. If by gracefully he meant never shut up with questions. The only reprieve he’d gotten was when he’d gone upstairs to make up the bed.

“So Laura’s eyes turn red and yours turn blue? Does it only happen when you’re startled?”

Reaching down deep for extra patience, Derek couldn’t hold back a little sigh. “It happens whenever my wolf wants to come out. I could be startled or angry or territorial…or it could be when I’m tired and want to make love to my boyfriend.” 

Derek flashed his eyes and Stiles squealed. “Do it again!”

Instead of complying, Derek rose to his feet and tugged Stiles up too. Before the slender man could protest, Derek tipped him over his shoulder and carted him upstairs to the loft bedroom with adjoining bath. When Stiles wriggled, Derek slapped his ass hard, enjoyed the firmness under his hand.

“Ouch! Go a little easy on the tender human.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to play the fragile human card from now on? Don’t forget, I saw you break that gunman’s arm. Your cover’s been blown.”

Stiles gleefully cackled, which earned him another swat. “Oh,” he murmured, the humor gone from his tone.

Had he hit Stiles too hard? 

Oh.

No.

His boyfriend was aroused. Finally.

Derek dumped his cargo on the freshly made up king sized bed, admiring Stiles’s flushed skin. “Strip.”

Stiles rushed to comply, yanking his yellow button-down shirt right over his head followed closely by the white t-shirt beneath it. He kicked of his combat boots—his one nod to the current college trends—and his socks before shucking the tight denim jeans off his hips and long legs. 

Derek was on the verge of barking an order to remove everything, damn it, when Stiles rolled nimbly to his knees, his package proudly on display in a tiny black jockstrap.

Blinking to make sure this wasn’t a dream, Derek admired the picture Stiles made. Derek knew a little about jockstraps, he’d been both an athlete at school and a player on the BDSM circuit for a while, and he was staring at a swimmer jock with a split pouch, right down the middle. Eyelets tied up with string held the two halves of the pouch together and Derek very much wanted to untie his present.

Now.

His boots, socks, jeans and Henley were divested in seconds. His fingers extended into claws and he sliced his boxer briefs off, in too much of a rush to go slow.

Stiles bit his lip at Derek’s little show of violence. His scent proved he wasn’t scared. If he got any more turned on, he’d be ejaculating in the pouch instead of in Derek’s hand, or in his mouth.

Derek moaned at the thought and Stiles moaned in response.

Pouncing on to the bed, Derek picked Stiles up at the waist and spun him around so he could admire his ass. The black straps of the jock crossed under firm, pale buttocks and connected to the other strap that rode low on Stiles’s waist.

His small waist currently being clutched in Derek’s strong grip.

He backed off, or at least he tried. Both the human and wolf wanted to dominate Stiles and Derek wasn’t sure he could keep himself in check.

Stiles wagged his ass and Derek’s vision swam a bit. All that pale skin, asking to be marked up.

Derek spread Stiles’s legs wider apart so that he could kneel behind the human and press his cock against bare skin. Stiles met the thrust with one of his own.

Long swipes of his tongue over mildly salty, sweaty skin enflamed him even more. 

“Are you flashing those blue eyes at me, baby? Can you knot me with that cock?”

Stiles had always excelled at bedroom talk but the comment about knotting flipped a switch in Derek. He redoubled his attentions to Stiles’s body and soon the younger man was writhing and the volume of his response was hurting Derek’s sensitive ears.

Groaning he leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the discarded t-shirt. His claws made short work of it, tearing it until he had a neat strip. He twisted the cotton before sliding back behind Stiles and grabbing his jaw, barking, “Open.”

The human—no, not the human, Stiles, he had a name—accepted the command, his lips parting with a breathy sigh. Derek threaded the cotton into the soft mouth and tugged it taut, tying it behind the messy, soft strands of hair at the back of his head.

The gag didn’t exactly halt the words tumbling from Stiles’s mouth but it muffled the noise. It also appeased Derek’s need to dominate.

Derek began rutting, there really was no other name for it, shoving his cock between Stiles’s parted legs and dragging his cock beneath the other man’s. It was delicious. But not enough.

Arm clamped around Stiles’s chest, his other hand untied the string so he could get to his prize. The fully erect cock sprang free; it was delicately graceful as it curved upward, a match to his other long, slim limbs. The size of Stiles’s hands and feet supported the old wives’ tale—the man had an impressive dick although it wasn’t nearly as thick as Derek’s.

Derek nuzzled the side of Stiles’s face, licking sweat and tears as they rolled down his skin. He was still in enough control so that if Stiles had truly been in distress he would’ve stopped but his body and chemo-signals were giving the full go ahead.

Derek massaged Stiles’s length but he needed to lay his hands on everything. His other hand snaked down the flat abdomen, combing through the dark treasure trail before joining the other hand to first weigh the sacs and then knead them.

The noises Stiles made were driving him insane as were the bucking and thrashing of his naked body. Derek yanked at the back of the gag sharply and Stiles’s body pulled tight with tension before he slumped forward, submitting properly.

“Good boy,” Derek growled past his fangs.

The whimpered response broke through the little bit of control Derek had left and in a show of strength, he picked Stiles up and flipped them both around so Derek’s back was now leaning against the immense headboard and Stiles sat, legs splayed open, in his lap, his back pressed to Derek’s chest. Derek spit into his hand before shifting Stiles with his legs, tilting him forward until he could insert his index finger now moistened from his saliva into Stiles’s tight passage. He slid easily in, his finger meeting slick; Stiles’s must’ve prepared himself earlier. Smart.

Another whimper hastened things along so that when Derek was able to insert three fingers into Stiles’s hole, he didn’t hesitate to grasp Stiles’s waist with both hands, lift and impale him on his livid, thick cock.

Stiles cried out through the wet cotton gag, his head banging back against Derek’s shoulder. Derek played with the flagging cock between Stiles’s legs, fisting and rubbing and then squeezing the balls drawn up tight until he was consumed with the smell of it. Want and need and submission and love.

Derek’s hips flexed, slowly at first, and then with more vigor. Stiles huffed out moans in time to his ass slapping against Derek’s thighs as he was jounced and bounced on the cock shoved up his passage. Stiles grasped his own cock when Derek wasn’t attentive enough to his needs and that wouldn’t do; Derek gripped those narrow wrists and held them down while he took what he wanted.

Stiles was softly squealing—there really was no other word for it—and when that changed to a high pitched whine, Stiles’s head tipping forward in capitulation, his body finding completion, Derek’s fangs sunk into the pale skin at the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t premeditated but it certainly felt right: Derek had given Stiles the mating bite.

Derek’s orgasm ripped through his body and as he jerked through it violently, he almost unseated the lax body in his lap.

His chest continued to heave as he sought to pull enough oxygen into his lungs. It was as though he’d run a marathon.

Stiles rested against him, body slack with limbs splayed open. His sweaty head rested against Derek’s shoulder, eyelashes fanning across his cheekbones in ridiculous thick dark sweeps. 

For once Stiles wasn’t talking. Derek had to make sure he was breathing. He was but was he conscious?

“Stiles!” Derek was panicking. He’d taken Stiles roughly, maybe even without proper consent, and given him the mating bite without explaining its implications or even giving him a change to say no.

The younger man rolled his head until he was staring up at Derek, brown eyes alert. A muffled request of, “Untie me,” was made and Derek scrambled to obey. 

Once the gag was removed, Derek moaned in sympathy at the sight of red, raw looking skin bracketing the sides of Stiles’s mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I hurt you.”

Stiles smiled, actually smiled, very sweetly. “Not God, just Stiles will do. And I’m not going to accept your apology.”

Derek tensed, waiting for the hit of pain. Stiles palmed his cheek. “That was the best sex. Ever. I saw stars. You’re going to be cleaning come off your ceiling, I shot so hard.”

Relief hit Derek’s system, the adrenaline abandoning him and leaving him weak. “I shouldn’t have hurt you. And I…oh God…I bit you.”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck. “I wondered why that was sore. Can you kiss it and make it better?”

“I can do more than that. Come on, let’s get you comfortable.” Derek lifted him up and settled him gently next to him, the squelching sound of their bodies separating hurting his ears. Stiles cringed, letting Derek know he had hurt him. He’d hurt his mate. 

Derek slid an arm behind Stiles and cupped his upper arm while his other hand ran through the messy strands, lightly massaging his scalp. Pain transferred from Stiles into Derek, the veins in his hands, then up his arms, turning black with the effort. His family had called it the ‘pain drain’ and Derek was never happier that he could do something to ease the injuries he caused.

“Are you sucking my pain away?” Stiles asked, his voice drowsy.

“Yeah. Surprise. Another werewolf gift.” 

When he’d done all he could, he gracefully rolled off the side of the bed.

Stiles had opened his eyes at the first movement and softly exclaimed, “Show-off.”

“Stay put. I’m going to run a bath.”

“Stay put he says. I couldn’t move if my life depended on it.”

Derek shivered. Stiles was his responsibility now. His to keep safe. His to cherish. Too bad Stiles didn’t know it. Yet. Derek would explain it. Later. Tomorrow. After he wasn’t so raw and Stiles was rested.

It didn’t take long to have the jet whirlpool swirling with bubbles and heated water. By the time he returned to the bed, Stiles mouth was open and he was breathing noisily through it. Not exactly snoring but just one step away.

Derek carefully picked Stiles up, cradling him to his chest, one arm behind his back and one beneath his knees. Stiles cuddled closer, a sign of trust.

The young man rested heavily in his arms but with his werewolf strength, Derek bore it easily. He kneeled next to the whirlpool bath and deposited Stiles on the bench seat. The younger man barely twitched.

Easing his own body into the water, Derek grabbed a washcloth and body wash and gently cleaned Stiles. The bite at his neck looked red and raw but Derek doesn’t detect any infection. He washed it and rinsed it several times until he was certain he’d been as thorough as possible.

The skin on either side of Stiles’s mouth was going to bruise. There wasn’t a socially acceptable explanation for those marks so he hoped Stiles would heal by the time they headed out. His wolf seemed pleased at the bruising there as well as around Stiles’s wrists. Derek hadn’t been able to hold back and he was lucky he didn’t break the fragile bones.

Stiles lolled in his arms, giving off twin scents of contentment and happiness. It went a long ways to appeasing Derek’s guilt.

When Stiles’s fingertips began to prune over, Derek hauled him out of the water. An oversized bath towel took care of the water clinging to Stiles.

Derek scooped up his relaxed boyfriend and carried him back to bed, tucking Stiles back under the covers. It was a good thing the bed was so large—one side of the bed escaped having their bodily secretions smeared all over it. Not that Derek minded. Stiles had turned out to be a bit of a neat freak though and Derek knew he’d appreciate sleeping in the clean patch.

Shaking off the post-orgasm lethargy, Derek decided he had excess energy to burn. He wanted to walk. Maybe run. A midnight run through the forest.

Kissing Stiles on the forehead, Derek whispered, “I’m taking a walk, sleepy-head. Be back soon.”

Stiles made the nonverbal sound in the back of his throat that made Derek wonder if he’d remember what Derek had said. Throwing on his clothing minus his shredded boxer-briefs, he made his way downstairs. 

Locking the door behind him, Derek inhaled deeply. The door banging against the house earlier had really startled him but he blamed it on the wind and the door not latching properly. He didn’t scent any tangible threats at the moment so he decided it was safe to leave Stiles for a while.

His walk turned into a light jog. His bones and joints and muscles screamed for a different activity and Derek stopped to pull off his clothing. Leaving it stacked in a neat pile, he shifted fully, his weight resting on all four legs.

The moon called to him and Derek ran.

Rabbits. Deer. Something else.

Already slowing down, Derek nonetheless hit the ground hard when something punched into his chest.

Blood.

Wolfsbane.

Hunters.

Derek passed out, hoping he hadn’t led anyone to his mate.


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue on with one of my submissions for the 2015 Hurt/Comfort Bingo--five prompts covered in one story which was a bit of a challenge for me. No beta on this one so all mistakes are mine.

Act II

Stiles stretched awake, mildly surprised he wasn’t in more pain. He had some bruises but they felt more like badges of honor than war wounds.

“Derek?”

Why wasn’t his boyfriend dancing attendance on him after the best sex of his life? Maybe it hadn’t been the best sex of Derek’s life. Stiles thought it over; he was pretty sure there was no faking the orgasm, bite or subsequent sweetness in the bath.

_He’s figured out you’re crazy and he’s left you._

Stiles frowned; that wasn’t right. He remembered Derek saying something about taking a walk right before he drifted asleep—he remembered something!—but he couldn’t hear Derek downstairs.

Rolling out of bed, Stiles realized he was maybe a little more sore than he initially had thought. The back of his neck throbbed, as did his tender hole. He yanked fresh clothing out of his bag conveniently sitting on the dresser and pulled it on slowly as not to exacerbate his soreness. Once his combat boots were laced up, he headed into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Toilette complete, he thumped downstairs. The large open living room and kitchen area were empty.

Unlocking the front door, Stiles stepped outside. “Derek?”

He didn’t hear anything except some leaves rustling in the breeze.

Stiles could see footsteps on the muddy ground and practiced his tracking skills, following the prints into the forest. He’d been walking for about fifteen minutes when he spotted a neat pile of clothing next to a tree.

Leaning over he picked up the jeans, socks and Henley sitting atop work boots and hugged them to his chest. “Derek?”

Complete silence answered his call.

Stiles would admit to feeling a fair bit of paranoia on a regular basis—someone without memories of his life before college and an inner monologue always picking away at his self esteem was bound to feel that way—but the silence of the forest seemed unnatural. The hair on the back of his neck actually rose as though Stiles was in a pocket of static electricity.

_Danger. Go back._

Sometimes he did listen to his inner voice and this was one of those times. Something was very wrong and Stiles sensed it had to do with Derek. Derek was in trouble.

Stiles set the pile of clothing back down, reasoning that the police might be able to use it somehow to find his boyfriend. He needed to preserve the crime scene.

Backing away from the area slowly, Stiles retreated back to the cabin. By the time he reached the front door, he was sprinting, panic making his breaths choppy and his heart beat erratically.

_Don’t look back._

Stiles put his back against the front door after slamming it shut and tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe he shouldn’t call the police. Crap. There was no cell reception out here so he couldn’t call even if he wanted to. 

That was okay; he’d take the Toyota into town. Stiles checked the table by the front door but it was bereft of keys. They’d probably been in Derek’s clothing that Stiles had left behind.

Shit.

Everything was cool. Stiles would just hike it into town and get help. He could follow the potholed road back into civilization and get the police to help him. Did he need to wait to file a missing persons report? He didn’t know how he knew it but he just knew there was no waiting period; that was just something on TV. His temples throbbed with pain but he didn’t have time for a migraine now.

Maybe the police were the wrong choice. Could they help find a werewolf? If they found Derek, would he be in danger? Stiles should call Laura. Derek had said his sister was his alpha. She would help. Only Stiles couldn’t find Derek’s phone. It was probably back in the creepy forest, which telegraphed bad things. Stiles was not going back there, at least not alone.

Fuck.

Stiles made sure he had his own wallet and cell phone and headed back outside. He didn’t bother to lock the door; it seemed they had more pressing issues than worrying about someone breaking in right now.

His heart continued to gallop in his chest, making it ache, as Stiles worried about his boyfriend. There was no way Derek would’ve left him alone for that long. He’d prefer to think Derek had run into town for breakfast and coffee but the Toyota was sitting there. The hood was cold to the touch.

Stiles lost track of the time, focusing on his breathing and not tripping and worrying, so he was surprised when he made the main road. Even more surprised when a squad car pulled up next to him. “Excuse me, sir, do you need some help?”

_Watch what you say. You don’t know if you can trust him._

The officer’s tone of voice was polite but Stiles saw through the lowered window that he kept his hand on his hip next to his gun. Stiles looked down at himself, cataloguing his appearance, and realized between his disheveled state and the way he’d been staggering down the road, huffing and puffing, he probably looked like he was deranged. The officer narrowed his eyes, staring. Oops. Stiles needed to open his mouth and say something.

“Yes, please. My boyfriend is missing.”

The officer pulled over to the side of the road and got out, approaching Stiles warily. “How long has he been missing?”

“Well, he went for a walk last night and he didn’t return.”

“What makes you think there’s something wrong?”

“He left me alone at the cabin after we…well, he left me alone which isn’t like him. And then there were the clothes in the forest.”

“Sir, are those bruises on your wrists?” The officer tipped his chin down so he could stare over his Ray-Bans. “And what the hell happened to your mouth?” The man's stare, and no-nonsense tone, reminded him of his dad...nope, he wasn't going to go there.

Oh. Stiles hadn’t really looked in the mirror but he remembered the gag and his wrists being held and how easily he bruised…fuck.

The officer was pulling his cuffs out and had Stiles turned around, leaning against the squad car before he even blinked. The guy was smooth. That didn’t help Stiles any though.

“You don’t understand! We have to find Derek. He’s out in that forest and there’s something wrong. Please!”

He was bundled into the backseat, a panic attack clawing through his chest. The officer was on his external microphone, talking to someone, but Stiles couldn’t make out anything they were saying through the blood rushing in his ears.

Stiles recognized the building they pulled up to as that of a typical police station. The officer tugged him out of the backseat and he found himself frisked by a different set of hands. He was manhandled into an interrogation room but his panic eased up when the handcuffs were removed.

“Okay sir, let’s start from the top. Can you tell us your name?”

“Stiles…um.” That didn’t match his ID, which they now had. “Miles Martin.”

“Mr. Martin, can you please tell us how you got those bruises?”

Damn it. He didn’t have a good explanation ready, couldn’t come up with one, and these men were not going to accept how he really got the bruises.

One of them pounded on the table, making Stiles jump. “How did you get those bruises?!”

“Sex! Okay? It was sex.” He saw the looks on the officers’ faces—his explanation had gone over as well as he had suspected. “Consensual sex.”

One of the officer’s was up on his feet, prowling around the room. “That how you got the wound on the back of your neck?”

“I, uh, yes. But that’s not the important thing. You have to help me find Derek. Something is wrong.” Stiles willed the cops to get with the program.

“Is Derek the guy who did this to you?” The prowling cop asked. 

“Yes, but that’s not important! He’s missing. You have to find him!”

Stiles was trying not to be demanding or hysterical or too loud or any of the things Lydia had ever accused him of but he wasn’t succeeding. The officers had looks of pity on their faces.

“Mr. Martin, please, you need to calm down. Officer Pearce here is going to set up a little exam for you, make sure you’re not too hurt.”

“I’m not hurt. Honest. I just want you to look for Derek. Please!”

Tears of desperation and frustration flooded Stiles’s eyes. He couldn’t think straight—something was wrong with Derek, damn it—and the cops didn’t believe him and he couldn’t make them understand.

_You are so fucked._

Stiles didn’t need that little voice to tell him that. The officers left him alone and he settled his head on folded arms resting on the table, willing the migraine to recede.

“Mr. Martin, I need you to consent to a SANE exam.” Stiles jumped when the new voice, female this time, startled him. “A SANE exam is when—“

“I know what that is, you don’t have to explain. And I’m not hurt. Please, why won’t you listen to me?”

“Have you looked in the mirror? You are definitely hurt and we need to make sure you don’t have internal bleeding. Miles—may I call you Miles?—we just want to make sure you get the help you need.”

This was getting him nowhere. He should’ve sucked it up and gone back into the forest for Laura’s phone number. That ship had sailed a long time ago. What could he do? He needed to be compliant and then maybe they’d listen.

“Fine. But if I consent to this will you please look for Derek?”

The officer smiled grimly. “Oh, don’t worry Miles. We’re already looking for him.”

Oh. They thought Derek had assaulted him. If they thought that, Stiles wondered if they thought Stiles had retaliated. Hurt Derek back. 

He let himself be guided to his feet and out of the interrogation room. Maybe once he had the damn Sexual Assault Nurse Exam they’d leave him alone and concentrate on finding Derek.

-0-

Derek shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. His body ached which didn’t make sense. With his accelerated healing, he rarely felt anything but the most transient of pain.

A sizzle preceded the shock running through his limbs. Limbs he couldn’t stretch or move. 

The panic caused by the inability to move cleared his mind enough to remember what had happened. After giving Stiles the mating bite, he’d been too wound up to sleep and had decided to let his wolf run through the forest. He’d been shot by wolfsbane.

The good news was he was still alive. The bad news was he was strung up and receiving electrical shocks at just the right voltage to keep him from being able to shift. 

Hunters.

“Hello, Derek. You sure have grown up nice.”

Derek focused on the athletic blond entering the gloomy room. She was beautiful and had a gorgeous smile but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was cold. Cold as ice. 

Kate Argent. 

Why was the substitute teacher he had dated briefly in high school here in this room?

“I can smell the smoke being generated by the thoughts churning in that head of yours. Or is that smoke from the shocks charring your skin?” The blond laughed but it lacked amusement. “Tell me you remember me, Derek. That you remember our time together. I certainly remember it fondly.”

Kate stood in front of him, her hand patting his chest. He cringed back but he had no play in his bonds and she took advantage of his position, her tongue leaving a strip of saliva across his abdomen.

“Don’t look at me like that, Der. I remember a time when you wanted my tongue on you.”

Derek hadn’t known Kate was a hunter. She’d seduced him back in high school and then disappeared from his life around the same time as the fire.

“You always were a little slow on the uptake. Are you just now making the connection?” She taunted.

Blood pressure rising uncomfortably so that it felt like the top of his head might pop off, Derek yanked on his restraints but he was too weakened by the low-level electricity pulsing through his body to break free. “Why? What did my family do to you?”

“Oh, don’t be naïve. Your family didn’t do anything in particular. Shifters are unpredictable. A threat. An abomination that must be eradicated and that’s my job.” Kate's tone was conversational, and bored, like she'd had to explain her choices over and over.

“Hunters are supposed to only hunt those who hunt them. What happened to your code?” Derek spit out.

Kate laughed with gusto. “The code is for pussies. I subscribe to a different code—I hunt whatever the hell I want. I’m the apex hunter and you, Derek, are my prey.”

Derek ignored her bullshit braggadocio, his mind busily connecting the dots.

Kate had seduced a much younger Derek; from an adult’s perspective he now realized how wrong it had been. At the time he’d been too busy grieving the loss of everyone in his family except Laura to miss Kate, or wonder what had happened to her.

The hunter had somehow used Derek to get to his family, nearly wiping them out.

Derek’s eyes flashed and he strained forward, forcing Kate back a step in surprise. He wanted her to pay. He wanted her dead.

“Nope. That attitude right there is not what I’m looking for. In fact I’m thinking I need to teach you a little lesson. Show you who’s the boss. What do you say I find that sweet doe-eyed human you’re shacked up with and put him through his paces? He’s such a pretty thing, looks like he’d be a screamer, too. Do you think I can make him scream?”

Derek’s vision shifted to red. No one threatened his mate. The electricity buzzing through his system was now a mere nuisance. This time when he lunged forward, the chains wrapped around his limbs snapped.

His claws unsheathed as his face shifted. She was fumbling for a weapon but with just one swipe he’d drain Kate’s blood—

Something spritzed him in the face and he stumbled back. He couldn’t breathe! Sinking to his knees he growled in frustration.

He had to protect his mate.

The airborne wolfsbane did its job and Derek sunk back into darkness.

-0-

Stiles found himself back in the same interrogation room. Tears blurred his vision but he refused to let them fall.

The nurse had been as gentle as she possibly could but the SANE exam had gone on and on and her questions about the bruising and minor tears had been relentless. Apparently no one in this town believed in BDSM and they certainly hadn’t believed what he and Derek had done had been consensual. 

Between the lack of food, the stress of the situation, and the incessant babble of his inner voice, Stiles had one hell of a migraine.

Stiles jumped as the door banged open. A tall, dark haired man swaggered into the room. “Hello, Stiles. When did you legally change your name to Miles Martin? I somehow think the sheriff took issue with that.”

Bile worked its way up his throat and Stiles gagged, trying to keep it down. “What,” Stiles had to pause as he convulsively swallowed, fighting the nausea, “are you talking about? Who the hell are you?”

The man smirked but his expression wasn’t amused. “You know who I am. I want to know what you did back in Beacon Hills but first we’ll start with what you did to Derek Hale. Didn’t care for the bedroom games he wanted to play?”

“I don’t know who you are, I haven’t had anything to eat in over 24 hours and I have a bitch of a headache, and I want to make a phone call.” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the man. He looked familiar but the pain in his temples pounded the more he tried to remember him. The man was definitely connected to his past and he certainly didn’t have any love for Stiles.

“You’ll get your phone call after you answer my questions. Now tell me, Stiles, what did you do with Derek Hale after he brutalized you?” The man glared at Stiles but instead of being cowed, it made Stiles angry.

“Excuse me, am I under arrest here? If so then you need to Mirandize me. Otherwise give me a phone so I can make a call.” Stiles didn’t watch procedural shows but that fact just came to him, accompanied by unfathomable pain. It would serve this asshole right if he puked all over his shoes.

The man withdrew a plastic Ziploc from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and smacked it down on the table in front of Stiles. “You want a phone? Fine, here’s Derek Hale’s phone. It was found, along with a pile of clothing, in the forest. Now what the hell did you do to Derek Hale?”

“Nothing!” Stiles pushed to his feet, tired of staring up at the man. “I didn’t hurt Derek. He went for a walk and never came back. I was on my way to town to report it when I was picked up. What are you doing to find him?”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find him. The question is what condition did you leave him in, Stilinski. I know what you did in Beacon Hills. And to Scott. I’m going to make sure you pay,” he snarled.

_Stilinski. He knows who you are. Hell he probably knows more about you then you do. You hurt the ones you love. Why don’t you just admit it?_

“No!” Stiles lunged across the table, pushing the man away. “I didn’t hurt anyone! I just want Derek. Why aren’t you out there trying to find him?”

Bodies poured into the little room and Stiles and the other man were separated. “Jesus, McCall, throttle back would you?”

McCall. Stiles knew that name. Despite the hands holding him he sunk to his knees. 

_That’s right, you know that name. Your best friend? Scott McCall? Ring any bells? You know, the one you let die?_

Tears were rolling down his face but an incipient panic attack was making it difficult to breathe so there were no sobs.

Stiles was hauled up and dropped on the hard chair but he couldn’t be bothered to fight the manhandling or even settle himself more comfortably.

Folding his arms across the table, Stiles set his forehead against them and concentrated on breathing in and out.

A throat cleared. “I’m Agent Weathers with the FBI. Here’s a can of soda. I also have a phone if you’d like to make a call.”

Here at least was someone who sounded reasonable and was speaking softly. Rubbing his face on his sleeves, Stiles straightened up. He cracked open the can and drained the Pepsi in four swallows. It wasn’t food but the sugar would help, at least temporarily. He’d crash later but as Scarlett O’Hara had said, he’d think about that tomorrow.

Agent Weathers was a tall, muscular African American and he loomed over Stiles but he didn’t feel threatened by him. “Here’s a cell phone. Go ahead and place a call if you want.”

Who should Stiles call? Lydia was in London and Derek was missing. He didn’t have an attorney on speed dial.

Derek was the priority. Derek needed to be found.

“Could I, uh, get a number off of Derek’s phone?”

Agent Weathers raised an eyebrow but turned the phone on through the Ziploc bag. “What number do you want?”

“Derek’s sister. Laura Hale.”

The agent read off the number while Stiles punched it into the phone he’d been given. The phone rang a few times before it went into voicemail. “Hey it's Laura, do your thing at the ring.”

Stiles should’ve prepared something to say but he didn’t have any time to dwell on it. “Hi, Laura. This is, um, Stiles. I mean Miles. Derek’s, um, well I’m with Derek. Only I’m not with him because he brought me up to your family’s cabin, took a walk, and hasn’t returned. They found his clothing in the forest. Laura, I don’t know what happened but I’m worried. I don’t think the police are taking me seriously. Could you please—?”

The voicemail cut him off. Stiles handed over the phone without comment. He wasn’t sure how coherent his message was but at least he’d let Derek’s sister know where Derek had been and that he was missing.

Stiles looked up at the agent. “Is anyone trying to find Derek?”

Agent Weathers pursed his lips. “The local police are sweeping the forest in the area where his clothing was found.”

Local police but not the FBI. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. There wasn’t much more he could do for Derek right now, which left his own predicament. “Are you arresting me?”

The tall man motioned Stiles to his feet. “We can hold you for 48 hours without charging you with anything. For now I’m going to take you back to a holding cell while we figure this mess out.”

Stiles didn’t even flinch when his biceps was enveloped in a large hand. He was a bit lightheaded and the touch steadied him. “Do you think I hurt Derek?”

Agent Weathers stared at the plastic covered cell phone in his hand thoughtfully before tucking it into his suit coat pocket. “I’ll get back to you on that one. I do think Agent McCall has a hard-on for putting you way so I suggest you toe the line.”

It seemed like good advice so Stiles moved along where the agent guided him. He had a feeling he’d have to wait and see what happened in the next day and a half before he had the opportunity to do anything except sit.

-0-

Derek emerged from the crashing wave of water, gasping for air.

Shaking the moisture from his eyes, he stared around the room. He wasn’t swimming in the ocean; he was chained back up, facing Kate Argent who held a pail in her hands.

“Hello, Derek. Did you have a nice little nap?” She set the pail down, wiping her hands on her jean clad thighs.

Her threats…what she’d done to his family…it all rushed back to Derek’s memory. His head dropped between his shoulders, too much weight for his neck to hold up.

“There, there, Derek. Don’t cry. At least not yet. I’ve got something planned for you but before we get to the main event, you and I are going to spend some quality time together.” Her hand palmed his shoulder, before she stroked it down his arm. 

Derek could only glare at her. He didn’t bother to speak; it wasn’t like she was going to listen to anything he had to say. He just needed to bide his time until he had another chance. As much as he wanted to kill the hunter, it was more important that he escape so he could protect his mate.

“Not feeling talkative? Maybe I overdid it with the wolfsbane aerosol. It took you quite a while to recover. Maybe you’re not that strong of a wolf after all.” Kate pursed her lips into a mockery of a kiss as she patted him one last, demeaning time before stepping back.

Kate pulled a chair over, dropping gracefully on to it. “Since you don’t want to talk, I guess I’ll keep the conversation rolling. You know, you weren’t my first target. I thought your uncle, Peter, would go for me since I was just his type but he wouldn’t leave his wife’s side.”

Peter had been completely in love with his wife, so much so that his harsh personality and mean sense of humor had mellowed. Derek had always looked up to his uncle but when Peter had met Joanna, he’d been more pleasant to spend time with, not that he’d had any time for Derek anymore. Of course Peter wouldn’t cheat on Joanna. The thought was completely absurd.

Kate crossed her legs. Derek focused on a spot somewhere over her shoulder to stare at so that he could keep an eye on her without having to actually look at her. “Next I tried to cozy up to Laura but she was one suspicious she-bitch. She wanted nothing to do with me.”

Externally Derek might appear impassive but on the inside he was laughing his ass off. Laura had been a complete bitch twelve years ago. Teenagers were hormonal anyway but throw in some werewolf chemistry and it was damned lucky any of them grew to maturity without killing each other. 

Digging in the bag next to her, Kate withdrew a knife. She flipped it in her hand. She tossed it into the air. She rubbed her finger up and down the blade. Finally she set it on her thigh. “That left me with you. You were cute and biddable and I should’ve targeted you first. I would’ve saved myself a couple of weeks of hard work trying to get close to Peter and Laura. I certainly learned something from that—teenage boys make the best marks.”

Shame. It was deep, debilitating—he’d allowed himself to be seduced by the beautiful substitute teacher never even suspecting she wanted something else from him. It was his fault his parents were dead. 

Kate lifted the knife and licked the blade; he focused all of his attention on the sharp edge, willing it to cut the hunter. No such luck.

She lowered the knife again, wiping it carefully on her jeans. “So Derek, I swung by the cabin and picked up that sweet piece of ass you’ve been fucking. I didn’t know you went for twinks but I’ve got to say we share the same taste. He’s adorable with that boy-band hair and those moles dotting all that creamy skin. And his cock! I tied it up, just like a present, and you should see the way it strained against the ribbon. And I was right—he’s totally a screamer. I left him with some other hunters for safe keeping, if you know what I mean.”

The shame of his long ago actions was replaced with possessive anger. He didn’t smell Stiles on Kate—she was a lying bitch—but just the thought was enough to flood his system with adrenaline. The thought of Stiles in the hands of hunters…Derek was going to lose his mind.

A howl pierced the air.

Derek held his breath, waiting to hear, or see, what happened next.

A section of the wall behind Kate shattered inward, pieces of wood splintering and shelling the area. The hunter screamed, knife in her hand, but the massive creature entering the room easily overpowered her. 

Leaning his weight and his strength against the chains, Derek struggled to break free. The hunter was a threat that needed to be neutralized and he wanted, no needed, to help.

Red eyes flashed and red blood arced through the air.

The alpha was gone before Derek could do anything. He was still chained up with electricity crackling through his system but his fear for Stiles was countering the effects. Throwing himself against the chains, he howled his frustration.

A howl answered him. Laura. His alpha.

Laura darted through the broken wall, her face shifted, claws sharp at her side. She took in Kate’s mangled, lifeless body and nodded with satisfaction.

“What happened?” his sister asked as she ripped the battery powering the shocks out of the wall.

With the cessation of the electricity and his adrenaline overload, Derek easily broke the chains holding him in place. “Another alpha showed up, killed her and left. How did you know I needed help?”

“I got an interesting message from Stiles. Or Miles. Apparently he doesn't know his own name. He said you’d disappeared from the cabin and he was worried something had happened.” Laura grabbed his arm and led him around the dead hunter. “I got here as quick as I could. How’d she get the jump on you?”

Derek crinkled his nose in consternation. “The wolf wanted to run after I, uh, gave Stiles the mating bite. Kate shot me with wolfsbane bullets.”

Laura whacked him in the arm. Hard. “What the fuck, Derek! You’re supposed to get your alpha’s permission before mating. I take it he knows about shifters?”

“Stiles took it in stride. He seemed excited about me being a werewolf.” Derek was ridiculously pleased about his mate’s response to his secret.

Laura walloped Derek on the side of the head this time. “You’re also supposed to get my permission before telling humans about us. This guy better be worth it, Derek.”

He admittedly didn’t have the best track record. In fact he needed to come clean about Kate. “I think you’re going to like him, Laura. But I have something to tell you. About the hunter.”

“That Kate Argent seduced you, exploited you for information about the house, and then burned it down? I figured it out a long time ago, baby brother.” Laura’s slow jog had turned into a sprint. 

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Derek was hurt. He thought there were no secrets between them.

“Derek, we were grieving. You were so young. It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t want you to dwell on it.” She threw her arm around his shoulder, drawing him close despite their awkward gait, hugging him. “I couldn’t lose you too.”

Derek acknowledged he’d been a complete mess after the fire. His whole world had imploded. If he’d known he’d been a factor, he probably would’ve tried to commit suicide or something dramatic like that. 

Nodding his understanding, he hugged back. He relished the cool air caressing his bare torso as they sprinted toward the cabin. He was free from that hunter bitch and soon he’d see his mate. Except…

“Who was the alpha?”

“Good question. We’ll have to figure that out. But for now, we’re almost to the cabin and there are people there. Sorry about this,” Laura said right before she kicked Derek in the leg.

“God damn it, Laura. What’s your damage?” Derek exclaimed, limping heavily now.

“It’s the police. Follow my lead and act dazed. You know, the usual,” she laughed as they slowed to a walk.

“Over here!” Laura screamed in his ear. “You have to help us! Some crazy woman kidnapped my brother. I found him but some wild animal tore her to pieces. It was a blood bath.” 

Derek had to hand it to his sister—she was a consummate actress. Wild eyed, chest heaving and panicky. He would’ve believed her.

The effects of the wolfsbane in his system were making themselves known in his continued limp and the bruises and burns scattered across his chest. The adrenaline had dissipated and Derek felt woozy.

“A little help,” Laura bleated and then things turned a bit fuzzy.

A rescue squad showed up, Derek was examined, and pictures of his condition were taken as evidence. Laura asked if they could give their statement later and the officers weren’t happy but conceded they would go to the boathouse Laura described and check out their story first.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” Derek stood up from the rig, a silver shock blanket draped around his shoulders. 

The officer squirmed a bit before answering. “He’s at the police station. They’re holding him.”

Derek stalked toward the officer, still limping. Damn Laura and her heeled boots. “Holding him for what?”

“For your disappearance and possible murder,” the officer admitted, stepping back in the face of Derek’s ire.

Laura’s hand latched on to Derek’s arm. “Let’s get you something to eat and drink and then we’ll head to the station. I need to meet this guy of yours.”

The paramedic warned Derek to get some rest, take fluids and nourishment and go to the ER if he had any side effects. They seemed a bit surprised that Derek was still upright after the ordeal he’d described with Laura’s embellishments. After listening to Laura, even Derek was amazed he was still alive.

“Can you throw a sandwich together for me while I shower? I want to get to Stiles as soon as we can. I don’t like the idea of him locked up.” Derek was anxious to see his mate.

“You got it.” She pulled him up the steps to the door. “I’ll call a lawyer while you clean up.”

-0-

Stiles was the only occupant in the holding cell. He normally couldn’t relax when he was alone but after the stress of the questioning, accusations and lack of food, he just wanted to sleep.

_You can’t be trusted._

_They’re going to lock you away._

_There’s someone in here with you._

Stiles startled awake, his gasping breaths loud in the otherwise silent wing.

If it wasn’t bad enough the voice in his head talked at him while he was awake, now it was invading his dreams.

He started humming something under his breath. It was a song. One his mom had played until she’d gotten sick.

_You lock the door_  
_And throw away the key_  
_There's someone in my head but it's not me._  


“I always did like that album. Roger Waters was quite the clever lyricist don’t you think?” A disembodied voice asked him.

Funny. It didn’t sound like the voice he was accustomed to hearing.

Red eyes glowed at him through the darkness.

Stiles rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands. “Maybe they dropped some acid in my Pepsi and I’m tripping,” he whispered to himself.

“And here I thought you were more clever than that, Stiles Stilinski. What would your dear father have to say if he could see you now?”

Pinching himself ruthlessly, Stiles chanted, “Wake up. He’s not really here. My father is dead.”

“Au contraire. Your father, the good sheriff, is very much alive and back home in Beacon Hills. What I want to know is why you’re pretending you don’t remember who you are and why you’re associating with the Hales.”

This was the most bizarre dream/nightmare/hallucination Stiles ever remembered having. He decided to play along until he could wake up. “I’ll bite. But first things first. Who are you?”

“Actually, I’ll bite.” The red eyes glowed as they moved closer to the cell. “In fact I just might bite you if you’re not careful. It would serve my nephew right for abandoning me. By the way, I’m Peter Hale.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’d shake your hand but I can’t quite reach,” Stiles shifted on the bench seat. “Did you say Hale?”

“Indeed,” the voice replied. “Please do give my regards to Laura and Derek. And tell them they’d better do a better job of protecting what’s theirs.”

The warning seemed more creepy than threatening but Stiles nodded his agreement. “Of course. I’ll let them know. Thanks for dropping by.”

A howl split the air. Stiles saw a blur of motion and then something pressed against the cell. Red eyes were set deep in a gaunt face, fangs jutting from the misshapen mouth, claws extended from hairy hands. It was a werewolf but nowhere near as attractive as Derek. This werewolf was downright horrifying.

“Stiles, don’t come out of the cell. Cover your eyes,” the creature hissed at him.

Stiles jammed himself against the back of the cell, scrambling for cover. Unfortunately the only protection he had was the cell itself.

Maybe he should call for help? Who was he kidding—if the officers couldn’t hear wolves howling then there was no way his screams would bring anyone running.

Snarls and growls could be heard down the hallway. Stiles covered his eyes with his hands but he couldn’t block out the cacophony of sound.

At last silence returned and Stiles lifted eyelids he didn’t remember closing. Another face was pressed against his cell this time but the red eyes, fangs and claws still persisted.

“Hello young man. My name is Deucalion. Who might you be?” The creature asked in a British accent.

Heart pounding so loudly he could barely hear the werewolf, Stiles licked his lips nervously. The creature watched Stiles’s nervous habit with single-minded intensity, nostrils flaring. 

“Who are you?” the werewolf demanded.

Stiles jumped, his heart slamming wildly in his chest. “Stiles. Sir.”

“You and your mate do not have permission to be in this territory. Do you know what that means?”

Stiles had nothing but his own research and fictional world building to draw on, but territorial claiming was a trope for which there was a workaround, at least in his story. Summoning the small amount of courage he had left, Stiles answered, “This is actually Hale territory. They own land here. There’s a cabin and everything.”

The werewolf hummed, frowning. “You speak the truth. I believe I owe you an apology then. It is I who is trespassing.”

His lungs worked hard to keep pace with his racing heartbeat. Black dots filled up his vision.

“Please give my regards to the True Alpha, Scott McCall, of Beacon Hills. Good bye for now, Stiles.” The British voice sounded very upper crust to Stiles’s untutored ears. This was the second werewolf to ask him to give their regards to someone. For such fierce, terrifying creatures, these werewolves seemed to have very nice manners.

The thought made Stiles chuckle but only a high-pitched noise emerged from his lips. He was out of breath and his lungs wouldn’t expand. 

_-Two joggers found a body in the woods._  
_-A dead body?_  
_-No, a body of water. Yes, dumb ass, a dead body._

_-His username is “Allison?” His password is also “Allison?”_  
_-Still want him in your pack?_

_-I couldn't help overhearing what you guys were talking about. And I think I actually might know what you're talking about. There's a Tibetan word for it. It's called "Bardo". It literally means "in-between state." The state between life and death._  
_-So are you talking Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?_  
_-Either, I guess. But all the stuff you guys were just saying? All that happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can by visited by peaceful and wrathful deities._  
_-Wrathful deities? And what are those?_  
_-Like demons._  
_-Demons. Why not?_  
_-Hold on, if there are different progressive states, then what's the last one?_  
_-Death. You die.  
_

Stiles couldn’t draw air, his lungs stuttering. 

He remembered. 

Scott being turned into a werewolf. 

The Alpha Pack. 

The Nogitsune.

Allison.

It hurt.

Stiles welcomed the collapsing darkness, sinking into it gratefully.

-0-

Derek had showered, changed and bolted down the two ham-and-swiss on rye sandwiches in record time. He impatiently drummed his fingers on his knee, willing Laura to drive faster.

“Relax,” Laura suggested. “We’re here. I’m sure your mate is fine. I mean what kind of trouble could he get into in a police station?”

Snorting, Derek replied, “You don’t know Stiles.”

“What kind of name is Stiles?” Laura was always curious.

“Can we do this later? I just want to get Stiles and go home,” Derek whined.

Laura crinkled her nose. She had always been susceptible to his whining. She’d do anything to make it stop.

They burst through the front door of the police station, long legs churning up the distance. Derek heard two female clerks whispering about how he and Laura looked like models. 

“Excuse me, we’re here about,” Laura paused, arching an eyebrow at Derek, waiting for him to supply the proper name. 

Derek completed her sentence without missing a beat, “Miles Martin. I believe you’re holding him for my supposed abduction and as you can see, I’m fine.”

Someone behind them murmured, “Creepy. Maybe that’s a twin thing or something.” 

Laura smiled so widely Derek heard her cheeks audibly creak. It didn’t take much to amuse her. 

Derek’s nose twitched; he smelled something but he couldn’t quite identify it. He redirected his attention away from his sister, and the smell, to the officer standing behind the front desk.

The blond man, who looked even younger than Stiles did, nodded his head. “You must be Derek Hale. I think they’re processing the paper work to free Mr. Martin but you’ll have to forgive us, we’re moving a little slower than usual around here.”

Turning up the wattage on her smile, Laura nearly melted the blond officer with her attention. “And why is that?”

“Well.” He looked around as if to assure himself that no one would overhear him. “Some wild animals seemed to have broken into the holding area and they left a bit of a mess.”

The smell. It was light and subtle but unmistakably werewolves.

Derek pushed past the surprised officer, Laura on his heels. He grabbed the door as it was swinging shut after another officer, eliciting a yelp from the blond at the front desk.

“Excuse me, you can’t go back there unescorted!” Laura snagged the officer’s arm, flirting with him as a distraction, as Derek followed in the wake of the other officer who had just gone through the door.

Stiles. Derek could smell the panic of his mate. Once the officer had unlocked the cell door, Derek was manhandling him out of the way so he could get to Stiles.

People were shouting and someone was tugging on his arm but Derek’s sole focus was the human curled up in a tight ball in the corner of the cell.

“Stiles. It’s me. Come on, we’re getting you out of here.” Derek was using his softest voice, trying not to startle his mate.

Stiles lifted his head, made eye contact and threw himself into Derek’s arms. Derek didn’t try to shush him although the little noises of distress Stiles made in the back of his throat were hard to listen to nor did he tell him it was all right. It wasn’t all right. The lingering chemo-signals filled with anxiety and fear were clogging Derek’s nostrils. He buried his nose in the side of Stiles’s neck and scented him.

The officer at his back cleared his throat and Stiles allowed Derek to pull him to his feet. His legs wobbled but seemed to gain strength and soon Derek was able to guide him out of the cell, following two officers who were decidedly displeased Derek had gone into the holding area.

Someone wearing a cap with a two-barred insignia on his uniform blocked the doorway. Derek was pretty sure the man was the captain or whatever the highest rank was for a station of this size.

“Gentleman, right this way to my office,” the man beckoned them, his face a stern mask.

Derek pulled Stiles more closely to his side, wishing they were alone. He needed to assure himself his mate was okay.

Laura was already in the office, sitting in a chair facing the desk. Derek deposited Stiles in the other chair, electing to stand next to him.

The man moved behind his desk but remained standing. “I’m Capt. Stone. The charges against Mr. Martin are being dropped.” The captain’s steel gray eyes focused on Derek. “We are investigating some charges against you, Mr. Hale. Please do not leave town until you’ve talked to me. We’ll try to clear this up as quickly as we can.”

Derek should’ve asked what charges were pending against him but he really wanted to get out of the station.

“Mr. Martin, here are your personal effects. Please sign here that you have received everything and you can be on your way.” The captain shoved a bag toward Stiles followed by a pen and paper.

Stiles’s hand shook as he signed the paper and he had yet to say anything. 

“Mr. Martin, I have to ask this—do you feel safe in the company of Mr. Hale?” Those eerie light colored eyes stared at his mate and Derek wanted to growl and bare his teeth.

“I, uh,” Stiles cleared his throat, “absolutely feel safe with Derek. No one makes me feel safer.” Stiles stared up at Derek and both sides of Derek, human and wolf, were gratified by his trust.

Derek helped Stiles to his feet, took his things and guided him toward the door under the unrelenting stare of the captain.

“I mean it, Hale. No disappearing acts until we talk.” The older man barked out.

Derek nodded his agreement and then he was finally guiding Stiles out of the office, out of the station and into fresh air.

Stiles was mumbling to himself and despite his advanced hearing, it didn’t make sense to Derek.

Laura cupped the back of Derek’s neck as he was opening the back door. It was the gesture of an alpha calming her beta and it did wonders for Derek’s equilibrium. “Hey, do you want to run by the ER and make sure he’s okay? I’m assuming the silent treatment isn’t Stiles’s normal default setting.”

Derek deposited Stiles on the back seat and slid in next to him. Laura closed the door before making her way to the driver’s seat.

“Stiles, do you need to see a doctor?” Derek asked, as he first buckled Stiles in and then himself before drawing the younger man closer to his side.

The chemo-signals flooded the small enclosure—anxiety.

“No, please, no. No more poking and prodding. Can we just go home?” Stiles had tucked his face into Derek’s neck so he couldn’t see his expression. Derek tightened his arm around his shoulders in response to his distress.

“Laura—this is my sister Laura by the way—is taking us back to the cabin. You’ll be safe there,” Derek soothed. He wanted to calm Stiles down so he could find out what had happened at the police station.

“Hi, Laura. Nice to meet you,” Stiles whispered.

Laura chuckled. “Nice to meet you, too, Stiles. Thank you for calling me by the way. I was able to find Derek thanks to your message.”

Stiles pushed away from her perch on Derek’s shoulder. “What did happen?”

Derek was embarrassed to admit it but he owed Stiles an explanation for disappearing like that. “I was captured by a hunter. She’s been taken care of though so you don’t have to worry.”

Ever curious, Stiles opened his mouth but Laura cut in with a, “Home, sweet home,” as she rolled to a stop.

Stiles’s legs were rubbery when he stepped out of the SUV but he let Derek brace his arm around his waist and help him into the cabin. They sank into the softness of the couch, plastered from ankle to shoulder along one side.

Laura went straight to the kitchen and began preparing more sandwiches. The scent of coffee wafted Derek’s way and he was reminded that he hadn’t been able to treat Stiles to breakfast in bed.

Derek curled his arm around Stiles’s shoulders and pushed his nose into the soft skin behind his ear. 

Laura set down two cups of coffee and then came back with a plate of sandwiches. “Listen, guys. I’m not going to hang around for the epic sex I know is about to happen and I need to head back into town to meet with a lawyer. Derek, could you see me out please? Stiles, I look forward to spending more time with you.”

Not wanting to abandon his mate’s side, Derek nevertheless did his alpha’s bidding. When they got outside he asked, “What did you need to tell me?”

“While you were getting Stiles from the holding cell, Capt. Stone was talking to some of his officers. They saw the bruising on Stiles and they think you assaulted him. Those are the charges he was talking about,” Laura explained with a serious expression.

“But I—”

“I know, Derek. You were a bit frisky and humans bruise easily. I just wanted you to know what was going on. Now get inside and take care of your mate. I’ll be back for dinner, okay? I figure you’ll be coming up for food about then,” she wiggled her eyebrows, pulling a laugh out of Derek.

He threw his arms around her. “Thank you.”

With a hard smack to the back that would’ve sent a non-shifter reeling, Laura pulled back. “See you in a while.”

Derek returned to the living room, happy to see Stiles was digging into the food. The cloud of anxiety was starting to lift as well. Now he just needed to be patient until he could find out what happened to Stiles while he was at the police station.

-0-

Stiles put down the plate, which only contained crumbs now. “I, ah, ate all of the sandwiches. Do you want me to make you some more?” He hadn’t meant to polish them off but once he’d started eating he’d realized how hungry he was and that food would probably ease his headache. The coffee helped in that regard, too.

“No, I’m fine,” Derek smiled that special smile that made Stiles feel unbelievably lucky.

“Have a seat then. I think we each have a story to share,” Stiles invited, patting the area next to him. “Do you mind going first?”

Derek joined him on the couch, facing him and linking their hands together. “Okay. I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run. Unfortunately a hunter caught and held me.”

“Uh, huh. The details are a little sparse there. What did they want and how did you get away?” Stiles was pretty certain the hunter was dead but he didn’t want any surprises cropping up.

“The hunter used wolfsbane and electricity to keep me weak. Her name was Kate Argent. Stiles, she was the hunter who burned our house down and killed my family,” Derek squeezed his hands. 

Stiles’s head throbbed at the mention of the name. Kate was Allison’s aunt.

_Allison, the hunter you killed._

Ignoring the voice, Stiles pulled Derek into his arms. “I’m so sorry.” Any other words seemed inadequate.

Stiles let Derek ease out of the hug when he was ready. His eyes were suspiciously moist but Stiles didn’t say anything. His eyes were moist, too.

“I was chained up and another shifter burst through the wall, killing her. That shifter took off and Laura found me. We came back to the cabin, gave a statement and then went to the police station to get you. I’m so sorry you were arrested. What happened?” Derek had leaned back so their only point of contact was their joined hands again.

“I couldn’t find you. I woke up and you were gone and I found your clothing but I knew something was wrong because you weren’t here to coddle me in the morning,” Stiles explained and Derek smiled, nodding. “I started walking into town and a cop stopped me and brought me in. He thought I’d done something to you.”

Derek let go of one of his hands and before Stiles could mourn the loss, his boyfriend was tipping his chin up to make eye contact. “They thought I’d sexually assaulted you and that you’d injured or killed me in retaliation. Is that right?”

Stiles suppressed a shudder. “Yeah. At least I was able to finally call Laura.”

“Thank you for that. If you hadn’t called her, I’m not sure what would’ve happened to me,” Derek said, rubbing the side of Stiles’s face gently with his fingers. “Stiles, something happened at the police station, didn’t it? Can you tell me about it?”

Stiles had been questioned by an asshole, given a SANE exam and put in a holding cell. He was pretty sure it was the holding cell Derek was talking about. “I think I was visited by a couple of shifters while I was locked up.”

“You think you were visited?” Derek queried.

“Well, I was kind of losing it there but yeah, the red glowing eyes were kind of the tip off,” Stiles sighed, still not sure he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.

“Red eyes indicate Alpha status,” Derek frowned while explaining.

“The first one said his name was Peter and he told me to give his regards to you and Laura. He said he was your uncle. Derek?” His boyfriend was up on his feet, pacing. Stiles cleared his throat. “Was that really your uncle?”

“My uncle was burned to death in the fire.” Derek continued his pacing. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“So I hallucinated it,” Stiles glumly looked down at his own lap. He hated not being able to trust his own mind.

“No. I think that really was my uncle. I just don’t know how. Did he say anything else?”

“He said my father wasn’t dead. He wanted to know why I was pretending not to remember. He threatened to bite me, said it would serve you right for abandoning him.”

Derek was growling. Loudly. It was incredibly sexy. 

Stiles hurried to explain. “Hey, hey. He was all bark and no bite. He said you should do a better job of protecting what’s yours and then disappeared when the other one showed up.

Derek left off with the growling but continued to stand. “What did the other one say?”

“He said his name was Deucalion and he told me in his very proper British accent we were in his territory. I pointed out that you owned land here and he backed off. Very surreal.” Stiles concluded without explaining about Scott being a True Alpha or getting his memories back. He was exhausted and just wanted to rest. After sex of course.

“Laura is coming back for dinner. I’ll update her then.” Derek held his hand out. “You look all done in. Let’s lay down for a while.”

“I would like a shower followed by sex. Then sleep. Is that okay?” Stiles asked as he stood up.

Derek braced an arm behind Stiles’s back and the other went behind his knees, scooping Stiles against his chest. His broad chest. Stiles could’ve easily walked upstairs but instead of arguing, he threw his arms around Derek’s neck.

His boyfriend nuzzled at his neck while climbing the stairs. “I’m so sorry I left you alone. And I’m sorry I bruised you so badly.”

“I’ll let you make it up to me,” Stiles answered, snuggling into Derek’s warmth.

The voice in his head was quiet for once.

-0-

Derek heard the light knock on the door and begrudgingly slipped out of bed to pull on clothes. He found Laura on the front stoop so he pushed the door open to let her in.

“What happened to your loaner?” he asked.

“There was a large branch down across the road. I thought about moving it but that didn’t seem like a good idea. I don’t want to draw more attention to us.”

“Wait. Someone blocked the road with a branch?” Derek was already heading toward the stairs to collect Stiles.

“Relax. It was a beaver. He’s a cute little fella. Destructive though,” she said before crinkling up her nose. “Really, Derek? You couldn’t even bother to shower first?”

“Oh, like you did when you were dating that male himbo,” Derek teased back. Laura socked him in her arm.

They both stilled as they heard Stiles murmur softly in the loft above, turning over.

“Do you mind if we talk outside? I want Stiles to get as much rest as he can,” Derek added.

Laura nodded her head. “Of course. I’d rather talk to you alone anyway.”

“Let me leave a note for him,” Derek said as he went into the kitchen, trying to ignore Laura’s words and failing miserably. Now what? He quickly scrawled a message about being in the preserve with Laura on the back of the grocery receipt and anchored it to the counter with the pen. With a little luck he’d be back before Stiles stirred.

It was early evening but the moon was starting to rise, increasing Derek’s edginess.

Touching his arm, Laura asked. “Do you want to run a bit? We haven’t done that together in a while.”

Despite not looking forward to whatever was on Laura’s mind, he quickly agreed. Running with his alpha was the perfect thing to settle down his jitters. “Sounds great.”

The siblings stripped their clothing off, leaving them on the steps. Laura had already morphed into her full shift when Derek cast one final look at the cabin before joining her.

As his front paws hit the ground he was tackled from the side, Laura bowling him over with her strength. Derek grumbled but picked himself up, bounding after her sleek shape when she headed into the trees.

They ran a different path from the one Derek had taken and he was happy to dispel the unpleasant memories of Kate capturing him with the sheer joy of running in his true form. When Laura pulled up short without warning, he had to dash around her to avoid a collision.

Laura shed her four-footed form with a shake, smirking. “Need to get your brakes checked there, bro?”

Derek caught up quickly, laughing as he changed form. “Nah. I just need to pay better attention I guess.”

His sister’s countenance softened. “Stiles is really good for you, isn’t he?”

“I think so. He’s got some issues but I think we can work through them. At least I hope we can.”

“Derek, what do you know about Stiles’s past?” The serious no-nonsense alpha had replaced the playful demeanor of his sister.

Sighing, feeling as though this was a trap, Derek responded. “Stiles doesn’t remember much of his past. Up until this last week he thought he was Lydia Martin’s brother, Miles. He knows his real name is Stiles Stilinski, he’s from Beacon Hills and something traumatic happened to him.”

“You can understand my concern seeing as his father is the Beacon Hills County Sheriff, right?” Laura’s arms were crossed as she stared him down.

“I’m concerned, too. But what do you want me to do? My wolf trusts Stiles. Hell, my wolf mated him.” Derek paused, gathering his thoughts. “Stiles was visited by two alphas while he was in the holding cell.”

“What is this, the poor man’s version of a Christmas Carol?” she grumbled.

“He said the first alpha was Peter.” He watched his sister’s eyes widen before they glowed alpha red. “Yes, Peter Hale. Apparently he didn’t die in the fire like you said. Did you know he was still alive?”

The strong alpha façade crumbled. “He was in a coma. I had to get you to safety. The last I heard his needs were being met but he was in a bad way.”

“Jesus, Laura. He told Stiles we needed to do a better job of protecting what’s ours and threatened to bite him. He’s not happy with us.” Derek’s arms crossed over his chest. It was the most defiance he’d ever shown his alpha before.

“So it was Peter who killed Kate. I thought I recognized that alpha’s scent but I couldn’t quite place it. I suppose after all these years that’s not really surprising.” Laura was pacing now.

“Stiles said he was also paid a visit by a British alpha named Deucalion.”

Laura stopped her pacing, grabbing Derek’s biceps in hers. “What did Deucalion want? This is bad.”

“He told Stiles we were trespassing on his territory but Stiles told him this was Hale territory, we owned property and everything.” Derek wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting but his sister cackling in amusement wasn’t it.

“Oh my God. Stiles must have brass balls. He gave possibly the only acceptable response. Do you know who Deucalion is?” Laura demanded.

“Um, no?”

“He is the alpha of an alpha pack.”

“Shit.” This wasn’t good. In fact it was very, very bad. “What would an alpha pack want with us?”

“Nothing good. That much I can tell you.” Laura looked at the sky. “We’d better get back.”

Laura resumed her wolf form, tipping her head back in a primal howl.

Derek quickly followed suit. He was eager to set eyes on Stiles and assure himself his mate was okay.

-0-

Stiles sat up in bed, trying to identify the noise that had interrupted his first sound sleep in ages. “Derek?”

Silence greeted him.

Stiles knew he was alone in the cabin. Again. Or still?

_Can’t even keep track of what’s real or not. You’re a mess, that’s for sure._

Stiles didn’t need his inner voice telling him he was a mess.

_I wonder what your friends would say? Oh, that’s right, you killed them all. Well almost all of them—you somehow let the Banshee live. Although even Derek elected to die rather than be with you._

Wait. What? Derek hadn’t died. His uncle had saved him. He’d come to the police station to get Stiles earlier that day. 

_Lydia said the Nogitsune was to blame but we both know it was your fault. You let the Nogitsune in because you’re too weak. As a result, everyone you cared for is dead. Your dad. Scott. Allison. Even Aiden._

That didn’t seem right. Deucalion said Scott was back in Beacon Hills. Maybe he’d dreamt Deucalion. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Stiles dragged on clothing and flew down the stairs, feet barely touching the steps. “Derek!”

He stuck his head in the kitchen but nothing seemed out of place. He ran out the front door and skidded to a stop. A pile of clothing sat on the step.

“No, this isn’t happening. I know I saw Derek earlier today. With his sister.”

Stiles banged back into the cabin, grabbing his cell phone from the coffee table.

“Come on, come on,” he urged as he hit Lydia’s contact information.

No signal.

_It’s only a matter of time before you drive Lydia away too. Or kill her. Why don’t you just end it?_

Stiles dropped his phone to the coffee table. He wanted to end the voice yapping in his ear. He needed a weapon. Glancing around the living room he didn’t spot anything.

The kitchen. Stiles raced into the large room, bouncing off the counter. He sent something skittering to the floor but he was too busy looking around, banging drawers open and then closed, until he found what he was seeking.

A knife.

It was thin and lightweight with a curved handle that fit neatly in his hand. 

He stared at the long scalloped edge. It was a santoku, a Japanese-style blade. He didn’t question how he knew that bit of trivia.

_Derek is dead. You’re all alone._

_Do it._

_You know what to do with the blade._

Stiles clutched his head, the pain almost more than he could endure. 

Was Derek dead? His clothing was in a neat pile. He was gone. Again. Or still?

Derek wouldn’t have left him alone, not after what happened last time.

Stiles must’ve hallucinated the whole police station saga.

_If you use the knife, you can join us._

Scott cajoled. 

_Yeah, Stiles. You’ll no longer be alone._

Allison, for all her failings, had always given it to Stiles straight.

_Son, your mother and I want to see you. Come on already._

Impatient. No nonsense. Definitely his dad.

Stiles stared at the knife. He knew some suicides made the mistake of cutting across the wrist. It was much more effective to cut down the length of the forearm. Hell, if he was going to do it right he ought to fill the bathtub with warm water but the trek upstairs was more than he could contemplate. At least he was in a t-shirt and didn’t have to worry about long sleeves

_Stiles?_

Stiles dug the tip of the blade into the crook of his elbow and dragged it down.

The knife—it said Wusthof on the side of the blade—was finely made. It sliced through his skin like it was soft butter.

Red sprayed the air.

“Stiles, what the hell!”

Derek stood before him.

Derek ripped the knife out of his hand, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Derek! I knew I’d see you again.” Stiles threw himself into Derek’s side, uninjured arm wrapped around his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you for hanging in there with me. One more part to go!


	3. Act III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, I bring you the final act of my five h/c prompts in one story extravaganza.

Act III

The blood arced into the air, spraying the counter, floor. Stiles threw himself into Derek, clinging to him, whispering something about seeing Derek again in his ear.

“Jesus, Stiles, what did you do?” Derek asked as he pried Stiles’s arm from around his neck. He needed to apply pressure to the arm gushing blood and figure out what was going on.

“I fixed it so I could see you again. I wasn’t sure it would work but it did,” Stiles sighed before he sank downward in slow motion, his back up against a cabinet door, his butt thunking against the hard floor.

Laura handed Derek a dishtowel and Derek pushed it against the wound on Stile’s arm. He lifted it for a moment and got one quick glimpse of a deep, long slice before the scarlet red coated everything in its path. They would need more than a dishtowel to staunch the flow. 

“Laura, he’s losing blood too fast. Do something!” Derek pleaded as he applied pressure, his hands now slick with red.

Laura had her phone out but she scowled. “No signal. I’ll have to run back to the road.”

“Can’t you bite him?” Derek was desperate to save his mate. Stiles’s heart was speeding up, then slowing down, cycling at a worrisome rate. 

“I think he’s too weak, Derek. It would kill him.” She squeezed his shoulder and then ran outside.

A hand flopped on his shoulder, startling him. “It’s gonna be okay now, Derek,” Stiles slurred before he gently cupped the side of Derek’s face. Stiles frowned as his hand slipped from its perch to flop on the ground.

Stiles had always been very pale but now even his pink lips had washed out and his skin was translucent under the bright fluorescent lighting. “Come on, Stiles, stay with me,” Derek begged. 

The rhythm of Stiles’s heart stuttered and Derek’s first aid training kicked in. He tugged Stiles down until he was flat on his back. He pushed a stool over blindly with his free hand, the clatter loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. He dragged it over and hitched Stiles’s legs over its upturned side. Derek wished he could reach the blanket folded over the back of the couch—he needed to keep Stiles warm—but trying to slow the blood slick was more important.

The front door opened. “The rescue squad is on its way. I moved the tree limb so they can get through,” Laura dropped down, kneeling next to Derek. She thrust more kitchen towels into Derek’s chest before looking down at Stiles. “Hey, Stiles, how are you doing?”

Derek discarded the soggy mess in his hand on the floor and quickly wrapped the fresh towels around Stile’s lax arm, continuing to apply as much pressure as he thought he could manage without snapping the bones. He was so stressed out he had to work to keep his claws from popping out.

Stiles blinked up at Laura, frowning. “Are you dead, too?”

Laura picked up Stiles’s right hand and gripped it tightly. “No, I’m alive. Why do you ask?” His alpha sister was using her most patient, gentle voice and it was scaring Derek because he wasn’t used to hearing it.

“They said when I died I would see everyone who had, you know, died already,” Stiles’s eyes rolled back in his head but he valiantly fought to right them and keep them open. “I’m dead, right? That’s why I can see Derek?” Stiles’s voice was low and scratchy, cracking with each interrogatory.

“No, honey. Derek, you , me—we’re all alive.” Laura smoothed the hair back from Stiles’s face and in that moment she had never resembled their mother more. “Now who told you about needing to die?”

Derek wanted to know the answer but Stiles’s heart was skipping and dragging. “Laura, he’s too weak. Let him conserve his energy.”

Laura flashed alpha red eyes at Derek. “I’m trying to give him something to live for here.” She turned her attention back to the pale boy on the kitchen floor. “Come on, Stiles. You can tell us.”

“First it was the voice in my head. Then Scott, Allison, even my dad. They told me I should join them and then I’d see Derek.”

A sob clogged in the back of Derek’s throat and Stiles’s attention shifted to him. “You’re really not dead?” The weak boy gasped. At Derek’s shake of his head, tears leaked from the edges of Stiles’s eyes, streaking down ashen cheeks. “You were gone, your clothing was on the step…I thought I’d made up the stuff at the police station.” Stiles’s voice was just a wisp of sound.

“I left you a note!” Derek cried. He glanced at Laura. “You saw me leave a note!”

“Oh,” Stiles sighed. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t see another car. I thought…”

Stiles’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head and this time they didn’t resurface. His breaths were deep, paroxysmal gasps.

Laura jumped to her feet. “They’re here.” She ran for the front door and Derek could hear her urging the crew on, telling them to hurry.

The same paramedics who had been on hand when Derek stumbled out of the preserve that same morning, clattered into the kitchen.

Laura snagged Derek’s biceps and tugged him out of the way so the two men could start working on Stiles. A pressure bandage was applied to the wounded left forearm and an IV started in the back of his right hand. 

One of the men used his radio to communicate with a doctor who snapped out more instructions.

“We’re going to take him to County General,” the man who had been on the radio with the doctor explained. “Why don’t you meet us there?”

Derek nodded his head dully. Laura held the door for the departing caravan—Stiles strapped to the gurney as the two paramedics wheeled him out to the rescue squad.

Laura reappeared, shoving Derek toward the sink. “Wash your hands. Then I’ll get you to the hospital.”

Mechanically, Derek turned the water on hot and liberally used the soap.

“Why would he do that?” Derek asked, not really expecting an answer.

“His chemo-signals were all over the place. You’ve managed to tie yourself to yet another nut-job, bro,” she scowled as she thrust paper towels into his hands. “At least no one can say you’re not consistent.”

“Another nut-job? Who—” Derek swallowed convulsively, “Oh, Kate.”

Laura grabbed something from the coffee table before she dragged Derek toward the door. “Sorry, that was a low blow. I’m just worried about your mate, he’s a part of my pack now, and didn’t mean to take it out on you. Let’s get to the hospital.”

The drive to the hospital was silent. Derek was relieved Laura was driving because he found himself zoning out, missing large stretches of highway. 

He startled when his sister punched him in the arm. “Come on, Derek. We’re here.” He’d never appreciated her rough-and-tumble manner more than now. If someone showed him just a bit of compassion, he would most likely start blubbering.

Laura pulled him through the ER entrance and was able to convince the clerk they were the closest thing to family Stiles had in the area. She took them back to a cubicle where Derek could see Stiles was receiving stitches to his arm.

Once the woman in the white lab coat was finished, she peeled off the gloves and dropped them in the trash. Her sharp gaze checked the displays showing numbers—Derek assumed they were Stiles’s vital signs—and then she nodded to someone in purple scrubs standing on the other side of Stiles before exiting the cubicle.

“Are you Miles’s family?” The woman asked in a soft accent.

“He goes by Stiles, and yes, I’m his boyfriend, Derek. His sister Lydia is in England, on vacation. We’re going to call her but we thought it would help if we had an update for her,” Derek explained, beginning to emerge from the cocoon of disbelief he’d been wrapped in.

“Stiles was conscious for a short while. He said I could speak with his boyfriend, Derek. I’m Dr. Al-Moosawi. We were able to stabilize Stiles with a transfusion of blood. I just stitched his wound. The good news is I don’t think he did any nerve damage.” The doctor paused, smoothing a piece of dark hair back into the bun.

Laura interjected before Derek could. “What’s the bad news?”

“This was a very serious attempt on his life Stiles made. He wasn’t just messing around. This wasn’t a cry for help. I’m going to have him admitted to the nearest psychiatric facility that specializes in these sorts of problems,” the doctor explained.

Stiles wouldn’t like it but he definitely needed help. More help than Derek and Laura could give him, at least at the moment. Derek asked, “Which facility is he being transferred to?”

“It is called Eichen House and it’s outside of Beacon Hills if you’re familiar with this part of the state,” the woman answered. Her beeper went off and she excused herself. “Please, here is my card. If you have any questions or his sister does, please do not hesitate to contact me. Michelle, the nurse with Stiles now, will keep you updated on his condition.”

Derek looked into the cubicle. Stiles was pale and still on the bed. 

He was, at least, alive.

-0-

Stiles blinked awake, staring into the harsh lighting overhead. 

Everything hurt. His head, his left arm, even his tailbone. “Huh. I thought being dead would end the pain.”

A female voice startled him. “That’s because you’re not dead, dumbass.”

Stiles turned his head to find wavy haired brunette standing next to him. “Laura?”

She rolled her eyes. “How many times do we have to be introduced before you remember me?” she asked, her voice laden with exasperation.

“Oh. Sorry.” He looked around the room. White ceiling and walls. Smell of bleach. Hospital. “Where am I?”

“Since you tried to off yourself, you’ve bought yourself a ticket to a psychiatric facility. Eichen House.” Stiles’s anxiety ratcheted up a notch at the mention of the facility.

“Echo House?” he asked. He had spent time here before. It hadn’t been pleasant. Nor helpful.

“I think the locals call it that.” She continued to loom over him. “Do you mind me asking why you were so intent on killing yourself?”

Stiles remembered lying on the floor of the cabin’s kitchen, talking to Derek and Laura. They’d both assured him he was alive. He’d told them about Scott, Allison and his dad egging him on.

“I thought I already told you about the voices,” he frowned. Keeping track of what was real or not was getting harder and harder.

“You did. I just wanted to make sure your story hadn’t changed,” she paused, returning his frown. “You know, if you tell the docs here about your voices they’re not going to want to let you go.” Even the crease in her forehead from frowning didn’t mar her beauty. The Hale siblings really were beautiful.

Someone else walked into his line of sight. “Derek!” Stiles tried to sit up but something prevented him.

“Easy, Stiles. Just relax.” Derek rested some of his weight next to Stiles’s hip, clutching his right hand.

“I thought you were dead,” Stiles said in a watery voice. 

Derek leaned over and brushed his lips lightly across Stiles’s. “I thought you were a goner, too.” Derek buried his face in the join between Stiles’s neck and shoulder, his voice muffled, “Don’t ever do that again. Promise me.””

Stiles could not only see and hear Derek, he could feel him. The press of his weight against Stiles’s side, the rub of his thickening beard, his fingers tugging lightly at Stiles’s hair. Here was the irrefutable evidence—Derek was alive.

“Derek, I don’t know what to do. I’m hearing things, maybe seeing things—I’m not sure I’m sane.” Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder and thought he saw a shadow sliding into the wall.

Derek sat up, his palm cupping the side of Stiles’s face, turning his head away from the shadow. “Are you seeing things now?”

Stiles looked over Derek’s shoulder at the shadow gyrating against the wall and bit his lip, nodding hesitantly.

Someone starting humming, then singing. It was the same song Stiles heard while in the holding cell. The one Peter had commented on. He cocked his head, listening.

“Hey, what do you hear?” Derek asked calmly.

“It’s the same song Peter and I talked about in the holding cell.” Stiles saw the look both Hales exchanged with each other. “It’s like the record is skipping and playing over the same part.”

“Which song, Stiles? What do you hear?” Laura asked.

“It’s Pink Floyd. My mom used to like it. “Brain Damage,” from _Dark Side of the Moon?_ You lock the door and throw away the key. There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.” Stiles lacked the English accent but thought he did a credible rendition. “I don’t know why I’m stuck on that part though. I always liked the next lines better,” he mused.

“Why is that?” Derek asked, clutching at Stiles’s hand.

“I always felt like it was talking about me. You know, the part that says if the band you're in starts playing different tunes. Sometimes it seemed like my mom was the only one who really understood me. Then she was gone and it was just me and the rest of the world, out of sync after that. At least until you.” Stiles smiled up at Derek nervously, shrugging a little. 

His boyfriend’s eyes were shiny. “We’re going to fix this, Stiles. Just don’t do anything reckless. If you don’t know what’s real then ask me,” Derek begged.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “Okay. I can do that.”

-0-

Derek hated the restraints strapping Stiles down but the severity of Stiles’s mental issues was pinging on everyone’s radar and this was the only way to assure his safety at the moment.

“Excuse me, sir. Ma’am. You’re going to have to leave. You can visit again in 72 hours,” the large man in gray scrubs said as he tugged the restraints harder than Derek thought was needed.

Laura folded her arms over her chest, standing tall. Derek found he mirrored her stance. She pursed her lips, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side. “Let me think about this. Um. No.”

The orderly huffed a sigh. “The psychologist will be in shortly to discuss this with you.” He poked a finger into Derek’s shoulder. “I suggest you get used to the idea of not seeing your little boyfriend for three days.”

“Brunski!” A petite black woman barked as she marched into the room. “You’re excused.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Vitriolic attitude snarled out of the orderly’s mouth, nullifying the respectful greeting.

The woman nodded to Laura and Derek but stood near the foot of the bed where Stiles, propped up against pillows at the head of the bed, could see her. “Hello, Stiles. My name is Marin Morrell. I’m one of the therapists on your team.”

Stiles nodded at her. “I’d shake your hand but I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

The therapist wasn’t amused but Derek cracked a smile; this was the nearest to normal for Stiles in terms of attitude that he’d seen all day and it gave him hope.

“I’d like to discuss your course of treatment, Stiles. Alone if that’s okay.” She was staring down Laura as if she expected his sister to object.

Stiles was the first to respond. “No. I need Derek and Laura to hear this.”

“Stiles, the relationship between a therapist and patient is sacrosanct. I will not harm you,” she cajoled.

“Sorry, no. I don’t trust myself right now. I really don’t trust you. I do, however, trust Derek and Laura,” Stiles reasoned, his visage set in implacable lines.

Morrell relented. “Fine. Let’s get started then. While you’re at Eichen House we’ll be fashioning a regimen of treatment most likely involving medications along with individual and group therapy. The first thing I need to hear from you is why you took such drastic action.”

Stiles looked to Derek and he nodded his head, silently encouraging Stiles to share whatever he wanted with the therapist. Some of the tension went out of Stiles’s shoulders and he said, “I sometimes hear a voice. Or voices.”

“What does the voice tell you?”

“Usually it tells me I’m stupid and unlovable but this afternoon things took a turn for the worse.”

“Please go on.”

Derek couldn’t say that he trusted this Morrell person but she was patient and giving the right responses to get Stiles to open up.

“I thought Derek was dead and it was the last straw, I guess. The voice said if I died then I could see my loved ones again,” Stiles was looking down at the blanket drawn over his legs, avoiding all eye contact.

“Stiles, why did you think Derek was dead?” The therapist probed, quietly.

“He was gone from the cabin. His clothes were on the front steps. It was just like before. I thought maybe I had hallucinated Derek coming back,” Stiles continued to keep his head down.

Morrell pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Did the fact Derek is a shifter contribute to your belief he was dead?”

Stiles’s head snapped up with an audible click. “How did you know—?” Stiles paused, as though searching for the right words.

Morrell smoothly continued for him, “That the Hales are shifters? It’s very apparent to someone who has basic knowledge of the supernatural. But what I want to know is if that knowledge was a stressor to you.”

“No. No way. I feel better knowing that secret actually,” Stiles stared at the therapist, waiting for her next response. This wasn’t going at all the way Derek had thought it would.

“What about the Nogitsune? It’s possible it left some damage behind. When is a door not a door?” she posed the question.

Stiles scowled. “When it’s ajar. Are you suggesting the door is still open?”

“Do you remember being here at Eichen House before, Stiles?”

He nodded his head, lips pulled into a straight line. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t trust you.”

“Stiles, you are the first survivor of a Nogitsune possession. This is unchartered territory here. I think it’s possible the door is still open and other worldly things are trying to enter through it. Does that make sense?” Morrell queried.

“I like that idea better than me being insane,” Stiles smiled crookedly. “So let’s say that’s what has happened here. How do we close the door?”

“Like I said, this is unchartered territory. I won’t be able to share this hypothesis with the rest of your treatment team—people tend to be afraid of the unknown—but we have several options we can try. Antipsychotic medications, convulsive shock therapy and trepanation are three courses of treatment that come to mind,” she paused, waiting for someone to say something.

Laura, Derek and Stiles all responded. 

“What?” Laura squawked. 

“No way!” Derek roared.

“What’s the most likely to address the problem?” Stiles inquired. 

Morrell smiled. At least Derek thought it was a smile, it was so restrained it was difficult to tell. “I’d like to start with the least invasive method of treatment. If the medications don’t have any impact then we can try a more aggressive approach. I’m going to leave these consent forms with you,” she set them down on tray table out of Stiles’s reach. “Tomorrow I’ll come back and we can discuss your options more. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have group therapy I need to lead.”

High heels clicking across the linoleum, the psychologist left the room.

“No way,” Derek bit out. “How the hell is drilling a hole in your head going to help close a door? I don’t trust her.”

Stiles was looking into the distance, his eyes unfocused. Derek was afraid his mate had fallen prey to the voice again but he surprised him by saying, “The last time I was here, she said she’d kill me to maintain the balance. I don’t trust her either.”

Laura clapped her hands together. “Then it’s unanimous. We’ll find someone else to help us.”

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion. An attractive bald, black gentleman stepped into the room. “I’m not sure you two remember me,” he said making eye contact with Derek and Laura and completely ignoring Stiles, “but I’m Alan Deaton. I was the emissary to your mother.”

“Congratulations,” Laura spit out, “you did a wonderful job of seeing to her interests. Not.” His sister’s eyes flashed bright alpha red but the former emissary seemed unconcerned. She pressed on. “Why exactly are you here?”

“I have some knowledge about the current situation and I wanted to lend my expertise. I disagree with Ms. Morrell and suggest you go with the more invasive treatments being offered,” Deaton explained, his demeanor unruffled by Laura’s hostility.

Stiles’s silence was noticeable and Derek kept sneaking peaks at him to make sure he was still conscious. His mate’s head was bowed, avoiding contact with everyone in the room.

Derek spoke up, reiterating his earlier stance. “Drilling a hole in Stiles’s head isn’t an option.”

“I understand your concern, Mr. Hale, but something must be done to mitigate the damage that could be caused by possession,” Deaton droned on in his well-modulated tone. It was making Derek sick.

“I don’t trust you. Get out,” Laura growled.

The man moved toward the door with more speed than Derek had thought possible. Despite the calm air the one-time emissary was projecting, he at least seemed to grasp the situation—Laura’s patience was at an end.

“Even if you don’t want to follow my advice, I urge you to rethink your involvement with Stiles,” the man paused at the doorway. “I think your presence is doing more harm than good.”

Derek’s feet were in motion before he could give any thought to his actions. Only his sister’s quick thinking prevented him from physically throwing Deaton from the room. 

The door swished shut, leaving Derek fighting to regain emotional equilibrium.

“He’s a bit of a douche,” Stiles commented.

Both Hales agreed with the comment, Laura laughing her agreement.

Laura sobered enough to squeeze Stiles’s right hand. “We’ll figure something out, Stiles.”

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Just don’t leave me at the mercy of these so-called helpful people. “

Derek wasn’t sure he could promise to stay by Stiles’s side the whole time due Eichen House’s policies but he would definitely give it his all.

-0-

Stiles jerked awake.

“Easy, son. Just relax.”

Turning his head, Stiles’s eyes widened. “Dad?”

“Of course it’s me. I needed to see how you’re doing.” His dad moved his chair closer to the bed and Stiles noticed how tired he looked with dark shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes. “Why did you come back, Stiles?”

“I, uh, didn’t have a choice,” Stiles answered. He wasn’t sure exactly what his dad was talking about.

He thought his dad was dead. Was he talking to a dead person? Was Stiles dead?

“You know I’ve missed you. I wanted to see you again but it was just too risky.” His dad reached out toward Stiles and it took everything Stiles had not to flinch away. Strong fingers carded through his hair, relaxing him. “You did a lot of damage here and people aren’t ready to forget. Or forgive. You should’ve stayed gone, Stiles.”

Tears leaked from his eyes and his nose began to drip.

“Stiles, hey, are you okay?” A concerned voice asked, accompanied with a strong squeeze to his right hand.

Stiles sat up. “Derek? I thought…” Stiles didn’t finish that sentence. He’d thought his dad had been here.

It could’ve been a dream. It could’ve been the voice fucking with him again.

Stiles didn’t want to let Derek down, tell him that he still didn’t know the difference between dreams and reality.

A finger gently brushed the moisture from his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t worry about it. Just try to rest.”

Rubbing his right hip where he’d received his last injection, Stiles shifted trying to get comfortable. 

“Let me,” Derek said as his hand pushed back Stiles’s t-shirt and touched bare skin, drawing the discomfort from his bruised joint.

“Why do they do that?” Stiles piped up.

“Do what?” Derek continued to softly stroke his side even thought the pain was gone. He could’ve told his boyfriend that but it felt good being petted like that. 

“Give you a shot on the part of the body that’s going to be bearing most of your weight. I mean wouldn’t it make more sense to give the shot in my arm?” It wasn’t exactly a burning question for Stiles, but once he started thinking on a topic it needed to run its course or he needed to be sidetracked by something else.

“That’s an excellent question. Let’s ask them the next time they come to give you another shot,” Derek snorted. Even without looking Stiles could tell he’d amused his boyfriend.

Laura bustled into the room with someone hot on her heels. Someone wearing very high heels who was practically running, trying to keep pace with the longer limbed alpha.

“Lydia!” Stiles exclaimed.

His sister, at least in spirit if not in letter, thrust a book into Derek’s hands before she made a beeline for Stiles’s side. “Stiles. What the hell?”

“I’m okay, Lyds. I didn’t really want to see you cut short your trip though. I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized as he looked his sister over, noticing the strawberry blond hair escaping from its braid, her smudged eye make-up and her untucked blouse. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her looking so disheveled.

“You’re one to talk,” Lydia said as she bent over and brushed a kiss against his cheek. Whoops, he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “You’re still talking out loud,” she reminded. Her lips were curved into a smile but her eyes didn’t match the expression.

Turning her head she glared at Laura. “You didn’t tell me he was in such bad shape!”

“Did, too! The voices. Physically run down. I told you he’s a mess,” Laura defended.

“Hey, the mess is right here,” Stiles interjected.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Lydia hardly ever apologized, at least not to Stiles. She was freaking him out. “I was worried the whole way here, not sure what I was going to find. However, I think I might have found a solution.”

Derek held the book up. “I take it this has something to do with it?”

Lydia tucked a recalcitrant strand of hair back behind her ear. “It’s an ancient Grimoire I was able to find while in London. Jackson helped me track it down.” 

Before Stiles could comment on Jackson’s involvement—he thought the guy hated him—Laura cut in. “What’s so important about the Grimoire?”

“Stiles, how much do you remember about the Nogitsune?” Lydia posed the question, staring intently at Stiles.

“Bits and pieces about being possessed. Nothing good. You know, both Morrell and Deaton think the door to my mind is still open and that’s what’s causing the problems.” Stiles was staring back just as intently and Lydia wasn’t surprised by the news. 

Lydia bit out a harsh laugh. “Don’t trust them. They always have their own agendas.”

That answered that question.

Derek had moved closer to the bed. “So back to the Grimoire. How does this help?”

“There’s a spell in there that I think will take care of the little door problem. I’m not sure the door to Stiles’s mind can ever be completely shut but we can bind him to another supernatural being and it should help share the burden.” Lydia explained, staring at Derek meaningfully.

Laura stepped closer to the bed, touching the cover of the ancient leather book. “Are you talking about a soulmate bond?”

“I am,” Lydia said, crossing her arms over her robust chest. “The only question is who is the best match. I’ve known Stiles the longest.” She threw a haughty look at Laura.

“I’m an alpha. I’m the strongest,” Laura retorted.

“Me,” Derek declared. “I love him.” Derek held Stiles’s right hand to his chest. “Stiles, I love you. Will you bond with me?”

Stiles was overwhelmed. He had three people who cared enough about him to tie themselves to his miserable existence. This, however, was a no-brainer. “Yes.” Moisture snaked down Stiles’s face; he hated the stupid medications that made him so susceptible to crying. This was worth crying over though. Derek loved him.

“I love you, too.” A thought hit him as Derek kissed the knuckles of his hand. “Wait. Will this hurt Derek?” It was difficult to pull his attention away from the face he loved but Lydia had found the Grimoire and right now she seemed to have the answers. “I refuse to put him in any danger. Any of you for that matter.”

Lydia blinked away tears but Stiles had seen them lurking in her pretty hazel eyes. “The soulbond is supposed to deepen the connection between two people so that if something happens to one, it happens to the other,” she explained.

Stiles whimpered; he didn’t want Derek to suffer through the voices.

“Stiles, look at me,” Lydia commanded. She waited for him to lift his head although he was having a hard time making eye contact. His whole world felt like it was crashing to an end.

A warm hand kneaded the back of his neck. Stiles let himself take comfort from Derek’s touch. Who knew how long it would be before he completely lost his mind.

“Stiles, stop it!” Lydia snapped. “Shifters are more adaptable due to their very physiology. Derek will be able to shoulder the load of this darkness much better than you can and you’ve been handling it just fine for seven years.”

The kneading at his neck stopped and Derek leaned over him until they were practically nose-to-nose. “Stiles, I’m already mated to you. Remember when I bit you at the cabin? I gave you the mating bond. Without asking you. Please, let’s do the soulbond. Trust me, losing you would hurt me much worse.” Derek’s lips covered his and it wasn’t a chaste kiss. There was thrusting and parrying of tongues and Stiles’s hand was tugging at silky strands of hair while Derek’s cradled the back of his head.

“Um, guys. I think we’re on a bit of a timetable here,” Lydia interrupted. 

Laura was huffing in the background, making lewd comments about them climbing each other like trees.

Something hit Stiles in the thigh closer to the family jewels then was comfortable. “Hey!” he said, pulling back from the linguistic gymnastics.

“I got everything we need for the spell. Special soap, sea salt, white candles, jars and lemons. You both need to be purified in a bath, a space needs to be cleared and the spell needs to be repeated while you’re skyclad. Yes, Stiles, naked,” Lydia clarified before Stiles could voice his thoughts. He snickered softly. Both Lydia and Laura sighed at his juvenile antics.

“Does it matter where the ritual is done?” Laura asked.

“Preferably somewhere that’s safe and has meaning to Derek and Stiles. It needs to represent sacred space,” Lydia said, tapping the Grimoire for emphasis.

Stiles reentered the discussion. “The cabin bathroom! It has that marvelous whirlpool bath where we—” a hand flattened over his mouth, stifling his explanation.

“Hush, Stiles,” Derek chastised. “They don’t need to hear the particulars.”

His wolf was blushing! Stiles didn’t know shifters could blush. Then again he’d forgotten the existence of shifters until just yesterday.

“We need a distraction. I’ll take care of that. Lydia, here are the keys to the car. You pull it around to the exit door we checked on our way up. Derek, once you hear a commotion down the hallway, you bring Stiles down the east stairwell and out that exit. If I’m not out right away, you guys leave without me and I’ll make my own way to the cabin. Any questions?” Laura asked, alpha eyes glowing red.

Stiles jerked back as Laura’s red eyes begin to bleed. He leaned away from her, turning his face into Derek’s chest.

Derek was comforting him, snapping at the ladies to go.

Stiles shivered. The hallucinations were getting more difficult to ignore.

-0-

Derek carried a quiescent Stiles into the cabin and right up the stairs to the loft bedroom, setting him carefully down on the bed.

Laura and Lydia followed closely behind. He could hear them bustling around the bedroom as he went into the bathroom to start the whirlpool bath.

It was a good thing the distraction, and extraction, had worked at Eichen House. Derek could feel Stiles slipping away from him. The voice, the hallucinations…whatever they were, his mate was declining quickly.

“Derek, do you have any questions about the spell?” Lydia asked from outside the doorway.

He’d studied the Grimoire in the car and it was pretty straightforward. Almost too easy. “No, I’ve got it.”

Laura appeared over Lydia’s shoulder. “We’re going to go clean up in the kitchen. If you have any questions, or need us, just call me. I’ll be listening for you.”

Derek nodded. The two women turned to go. “Hey,” he called, waiting for them to turn back. “Thank you. For everything.”

Laura inclined her head in acknowledge but Lydia smiled through tears. “I love him, too, Derek. Thank you for agreeing to this.” With that Laura hustled out of the loft, down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Lydia paused, kissing Stiles’s cheek, before she joined Laura.

Derek threw bath salts into the water. They were supposed to relax in its warmth and be grateful for all four elements. Connect with them.

Emptying Lydia’s satchel, Derek found the white candle and lit it with the Bic lighter he kept in the drawer next to the toothpaste. He put the lemons in the clear jars and tucked one into each corner of the bathroom. He set the special soap next to the tub. He’d save the last step for when Stiles joined him.

Derek looked around the bathroom. The water level looked about right. He started the jets and then went back into the bedroom.

Stiles was in the same position Derek had left him, sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging low between his shoulders.

“Stiles,” Derek watched as his mate jumped, startled by his voice. He hated seeing Stiles like this. “It’s time for the spell. Are you ready?”

Stiles’s gaze slid from Derek’s face to the doorway behind him. He frowned, perhaps not liking something only he could see, before nodding. 

The spell needed both of them to participate but Stiles was deteriorating at such a rapid pace, Derek wasn’t sure he was completely present. 

“Come on, let’s get skyclad,” Derek said as he peeled the white t-shirt up over Stiles’s head, inside out, like he was peeling a banana.

“I can’t wait to get clean,” Stiles mumbled. “I hate that place.”

“I know. I also know this is going to work and you’ll never have to go back there,” Derek cajoled Stiles to his feet, helping him out of the institute issued pajama pants.

Letting Stiles shimmy out of his boxers, Derek hustled out of his own clothing. He just let them drop where they fell. He could go back to being neat and orderly after the spell was complete.

Joining hands, both men entered the bathroom. “Keep your left arm out of the water if you can. Prop it up here on the edge of the tub,” Derek said, assisting his mate into the water, helping settle him on the bench, propping his injured left arm on a folded towel.

“We’re supposed to cleanse the room as we’re cleansing ourselves. I put jars filled with lemon in the corners and lit the white candle from Lydia. The only thing left to do is sprinkle salt,” Derek explained, grabbing the container from the edge of the vanity.

“You mean like using rock salt to banish the spirits?” Stiles asked.

“You’ve been watching Supernatural again, haven’t you?” Derek teased.

“Maybe.” Stiles’s face flushed but it could’ve been from the heat of the water. His mate had a bit of a crush on Sam, the gorgeous emo brother on the show. It was funny because Derek was taken with Dean, the sarcastic, handsome one—very similar to Stiles in his opinion. 

Dipping his fingers into the sea salt, he dropped it across the doorway in a thin line. He repeated the gesture across the windowsill. “There. I’d say we’ve cleared our space. Now for the bath.”

Sinking into the warm water next to Stiles, Derek took the washcloth he’d left out, dipping it into the water, before adding some of Lydia’s soap to it. He was wringing out the excess moisture when Stiles cleared his throat.

“Here, let me,” Stiles asked, his right hand held out for the washcloth. Derek dropped it into his hand. His mate was staying engaged in the ritual so far, he could only hope it lasted.

Stiles rubbed the washcloth around Derek’s neck, up and down his arms, and then across his chest. Derek took the cloth, adding more soap to it, before handing it back.

“Lean forward for me,” Stiles asked. Derek complied and soon the cloth was rubbing in gentle circles over Derek’s back. The tension began to seep out of him.

When the cloth moved from back to front and made contact with Derek’s cock, Derek stilled Stiles’s hand. “If you do that we’re not going to finish our cleansing bath,” he scolded.

Stiles grinned crookedly. “Spoilsport.”

His mate sluiced water over his skin with his one hand. It was slow going so Derek joined in, rinsing the suds from his body.

“Do you feel connected to the Earth, Air, Water and Fire?” Derek asked, remembering that was a step in the cleansing ritual.

“Very connected,” Stiles murmured, his head tipping back to rest against the edge of the tub surround as Derek finished rinsing.

Derek made sure Stiles was keeping his left arm elevated out of the water before he added more soap to the cloth and began applying it to his mate’s creamy skin. Stiles fairly melted at the attention. Derek had finished the cleansing rub and was now focusing on rinsing the suds away. 

Stiles heart was banging away in his chest but his breathing had evened out. “Hey, no falling asleep on the job.”

Stiles lifted hi head up and blinked his eyes open, lashes matted from the steam in the room. “I think we need to hurry. Please.” The skin between Stiles’s eyebrows was pulled taut, his skin losing its rosy hue from the heat and turning a pale gray right before Derek’s eyes.

“Okay, let me grab the spell,” Derek leaned out of the tub and snagged the sheet of paper from where he’d left it on the pile of huge bath towels. Lydia had had the foresight to put the translation—Stiles might be able to read Latin but Derek couldn’t—in a gigantic Ziploc bag, so they could read it together without the ink smudging or the paper getting soggy.

“Read it with me, Stiles. Here we go,” Derek said, pointing to the first paragraph.

“In the entire world, there is only one me. I am perfect for you. You are perfect for me.” Stiles’s voice was ragged but he was reading along.

“I am invoking you, whoever you are, wherever you are, feel my energy and come into my life.” Stiles’s heart was galloping again, his breath wheezing.

“With you, I will share my whole self and all that is precious to me. I will bless your life, you will bless my life, I am ready, you are ready, I am worthy, you are worthy, and we are worthy together.” If Stiles had had more energy, Derek just knew he’d be making a comment about this spell being so corny.

“I am here, come to me, make yourself known to me,” Derek gasped, warmth tingling down his spine like an electrical shock. A good kind of shock.

Derek clasped Stiles’s hand in his own. “And it harm none, so mote it be.”

Leaning forward, Derek snagged Stiles’s index finger with a fang at the same time he pricked his own index finger with a claw. He smeared their fingers together, mingling their blood.

A loud clap of noise reverberated around the bathroom, bouncing off the marble interior, hurting Derek’s ears.

Stiles’s back arched and he convulsed, his injured arm hitting the water with a splash.

“Stiles!” Derek lunged forward, supporting Stiles’s body so it didn’t sink beneath the water. Their fronts were pressed together and something shifted inside of Derek’s chest. Something precious. 

Stiles groaned and then he scrabbled to get even closer to Derek, pressing his lips to Derek’s with a surprising violence.

Light arced above them, the light fixtures exploding.

Derek heard Lydia and Laura exclaiming downstairs.

Derek felt the bond solidify between the mates. It felt like coming home.

-0-

Stiles stretched, his left arm seeking out Derek. The bed was empty.

This was exactly what had happened the last two times Stiles was in this bed.

He sat up in the bed, completely aware. Panicking.

“Easy does it,” Derek said from the other side of the room. In three quick strides, he was at Stiles’s side. “Let me see your arm.”

Stiles let Derek examine his injured arm. It must be healing well; he couldn’t even feel the pull of stitches.

“It’s completely healed!” Derek exclaimed. “So are the bruises on your wrists and around your mouth.”

Stiles yanked his arm out of Derek’s hands. “Let me see that,” the skin beneath the line of stiches wasn’t even red. “That’s weird.” He looked up at Derek, smiling.

Derek smiled back, his eyes flaring bright red. “Your eyes!” Stiles shouted, scrambling to his feet. “Are you an alpha?”

“Do you think you could put some clothes on, Stiles?” Laura interrupted. “I don’t need to see my brother’s soulmate’s junk.” Stiles flipped her off before he found sweatpants and a t-shirt folded on the corner of the bed. 

“There. All safe for your virgin eyes.” Stiles announced. Laura snorted in amusement.

“Speaking of eyes,” Lydia pushed into the bedroom, “Yes, Derek is an alpha now. Also your arm is healed. And you know what else?” she demanded.

Stiles looked at Derek who just smirked. “What?”

“You managed to bond all four of us, you moron!” Lydia declared before she launched herself across the room, flinging her arms around Stiles.

“How the hell did that happen?” Stiles asked, bracing as the petite woman collided with him, wrapping her arms around him.

Laura put her arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Near as we can tell, it happened because our hands were soaked with the residue of your blood. We were cleaning up the mess in the kitchen from your little session with the knife and voila! We were linked.”

Stiles concentrated. He could easily feel the soulmate bond with Derek. His mate was so happy it made Stiles’s chest want to burst. There was a deep sense of amusement, too. He figured that was Laura. Content and awe simmered quietly; Lydia.

“Are you guys mad?” Stiles kept his arms around Lydia; if she was going to start swinging she wouldn’t be able to generate that much power from up so close.

Both Laura and Lydia giggled. Actual bubbles of light tee-hees were pouring from the mouths.

“I’ve never felt so alive,” Lydia announced.

“It’s a real pack now. I don’t know what it’ll be like having two alphas, but it feels right,” Laura added.

Derek joined Stiles at his side, dragging Laura with him, until all of them had their hands on each other’s shoulders like a football huddle. “So what now?” Derek asked.

“I think it’s okay to tell Stiles what happened after the Nogitsune possessed him. That’s if you want to know,” Lydia turned to Stiles.

“I, ah, yeah. I remember a lot of what happened but I’m not sure I remember it in the right order, or remember it right.” Stiles wanted to sort things out as quickly as possible so he and Derek could go about the business of spending time together.

Lydia pushed Stiles and Derek until they were sitting on the edge of the bed. Laura pulled the chair in the corner over and Lydia stood before them. “Scott bit the dark fox spirit because it couldn’t be both a fox and a wolf at the same time. The Nogitsune crumbled to dust and you passed out, Stiles. When you woke up you were confused and you wouldn’t let anyone except me get close to you. You even had seizures when others tried touching you. Our local druids, Deaton and Morrell, suggested I take you from Beacon Hills and they encouraged you to forget what happened. What I didn’t realize was that they spelled you, affecting your memory.”

“So that’s why Stiles didn’t remember anything leading up to college,” Derek added.

Stiles was too busy trying to digest what Lydia was telling him. They’d definitely been right not to trust the druids when he was at Eichen House.

“Wait, I remember hearing Morrell, Deaton, Scott and my dad talking about if I hadn’t been so unstable then the Nogitsune would never had been able to possess me. Is that true?” Stiles asked although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Anything having to do with mental illness made him a bit edgy. Due to his mother’s history, he always thought maybe he was one step away from losing his mind. Frontotemporal dementia, a shrinkage of the brain that led to dementia and death, was a scary as hell diagnosis and even though Stiles had been tested for it, he worried he hadn’t escaped its clutches.

“Absolutely not,” Laura said, aggressively flipping her long hair over her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “The sacrificial ritual you did to bring your dad back opened that doorway. Both druids would’ve known that. They wanted you out of the way, maybe because of the influence you had on your friend Scott.”

Lydia piped up. “I think they wanted to control the True Alpha and the only way to do that was to get you out of the way. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it.”

Stiles’s head hung low, the weight almost too heavy for his neck, while his shoulders slouched. He didn’t know if he was suddenly feeling let down because his issues with the voices might finally have been addressed or if something else was going on. Derek squeezed his shoulder, pushing love and reassurance to him. The bond was going to take some getting used to but it was definitely better than the alternative.

Both Derek and Laura turned their heads as if listening to something. “Someone is coming,” Laura said.

All four bondmates trooped downstairs. Derek opened the door before whoever had arrived had a chance to knock.

“Stiles!” A blue-eyed man pushed into the room, seeking him out.

His father. “Dad!”

The two Stilinskis hugged. 

For so long Stiles had believed his dad was dead. That he had killed him.

It was such a relief to know he was alive.

His dad set him back at arms length. “Are you okay, son?”

Anger quickly ignited within Stiles. “No thanks to you, Dad,” Stiles retorted. His dad flinched, his hands dropping from Stiles’s arms. “Why did you send me away and let me think you were dead? That I had killed you?”

His emotions were running high and his voice was quivering.

His dad looked supremely uncomfortable. “Deaton suggested it. He thought it was best considering all of the damage you did,” his father explained.

“Bullshit,” Laura bit out. 

Derek echoed his sister’s words with even more vehemence. “The Nogitsune did the damage, not Stiles.”

“I didn’t know,” the sheriff explained. “I only wanted what was best for you.”

Stiles stepped back away from his dad’s reach. “I love you, Dad, but I don’t think I can be around you right now.”

The older man looked crushed, face crumpling, but he didn’t try to argue with Stiles. Arms hanging limply at his side, his father turned and made for the front door.

“Oh, and Dad?” The man stopped and turned around, face hopeful. Stiles ignored the look. “Tell Scott I don’t want to see or hear from him either. Maybe some day I’ll be able to be around you two, but not now.”

His father nodding his head but then didn’t linger, letting the screen door bang behind him as he bolted out of it. Once the vehicle had moved down the road, Stiles visibly wilted.

Derek came up from behind him, putting his arms around him, giving him silent strength. “What do you want to do now?”

“Can we go home? I miss Tetra Luna.” Stiles dashed the back of his hand across his face, mopping up tears. He was sick of crying.

“Tetra Luna. Yeah, we can go back there,” Derek hugged him close from behind.

Tetra Luna was Latin for The Dark Side of the Mood. That was his mom’s favorite album. The song “Brain Damage” had been playing on a near constant loop near the end there.

At least he knew why it kept skipping over that section—he wasn’t the only one in his head. Fortunately the soulbond had taken care of it.

Derek also made it so his band no longer played different tunes.

For the first time probably since his mother had died, Stiles felt at peace.

-0-

Derek looked at his mate from across the room. Stiles was tucked into the very same corner, wearing the same black knit cap pulled over his tousled brown locks, pushing up his black frames while chewing on a pen sticking out of his pouty lips, just the same as the first time he’d seen him. Stiles looked up and smiled, pen dropping from his lips at the innocent movement to splash into his white porcelain coffee cup with a soft splosh and resultant tsunami of coffee.

Stiles looked down at the mess and then back up, chagrinned. “Fuck.” 

Derek couldn’t hold in his mirth, cackling softly. He motioned to Erica, one of the baristas manning the counter, with the hand gesture he’d taking to using to request Stiles’s favorite drink, a Café Latte; he flashed three fingers, spread, his shorthand for the letter W which he then rested his other palm across to create a straight line. 

Erica rolled her eyes but turned around to prepare a Flat White, which was one shot of espresso mixed with six ounces of steamed milk without the foam. Stiles had almost incited Derek to indecent exposure and public lewdness just by watching him lick the foam off his upper lip so he’d banned him from having foam on his drinks while at Tetra Luna. Home was a completely different matter.

Picking up the cup and saucer, and a hand full of napkins, Derek made his way through the mostly occupied tables and chairs until he presented Stiles with his bounty. 

“You, Derek Hale, are a lifesaver.” Stiles sipped from the fresh cup before setting it down carefully in the saucer before licking his lips with exaggerated swipes of his tongue while humming. 

“And you, Stiles Stilinski, are a tease.” Derek replied as he sunk into the other chair at the table. “How’s the thesis coming?”

“It’s coming. Slowly. Which I’d like to be doing shortly. What time are you off the clock?” Stiles asked, batting his eyelashes, which should’ve looked absurd but instead was adorable. 

“Another hour ought to do it. And then I’ll do you. Sound good?” Derek took Stiles’s hand in his own, caressing the long fingers with his. “Seriously, how is it going?”

Stiles crinkled his nose. “Well I’m making some substantial changes—I don’t want to accidentally out any s-h-i-f-t-e-r-s,” he spelled out the word as if that would offer the supernatural any protection, “but my advisor was sympathetic to my plight and he thinks my extension will be granted.”

“That’s good,” Derek replied but his smile dimmed a bit. Stiles had been through the wringer in the last month, in part due to his association with Derek. They both still had some healing to do. Which prompted Derek to ask, “Have you heard from anyone back home?”

“Boo, how many times do I have to tell you? My home is wherever you are.” The younger man’s heartbeat was steady but Derek didn’t need that to prove anything; he could feel through their bond that Stiles meant what he said.

“Are you sure you majored in English? It’s beaux, not boo. And you also didn’t answer my question.” The topic was serious but he was striving to keep it light hearted. Stiles had spent enough time in the depths of depression; he’d prefer to keep him out of the dark.

Stiles heaved a sigh but it was manufactured. “Yeah. I’ve exchanged some texts with both Scott and my dad. My dad asked me to come visit.”

Derek nudged the denim clad long leg with his foot. “What did you say?”

“Not yet. Maybe next month.”

Knowing not to make a big deal of this revelation, but feeling like he was going to burst with pride at how resilient his mate was, and how happy he was that the younger man was working to mend things with his family, Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand. He wanted to ask if his dad had explained why he sent Stiles away for all of those years but he didn’t want to poke at the sore spot. 

Maybe the bond betrayed his thoughts though because Stiles responded to his unspoken question. “Apparently Deaton and his sister spun some bullshit about restoring the balance and the need to remove me from the area so I didn’t fall prey to the forces of darkness. My dad fell for it, hook, line and sinker. I think they were afraid of the spark within me and just needed me out of their way. Lydia, too.” Sadness was wafting off of Stiles and Derek could feel it in his soul.

“So where are the L’s? I can’t sense them in the city.” Derek let Stiles change the topic. Especially because he was talking about the bond the couple now shared with Laura and Lydia. Their presence at the cabin when Derek and Stiles had solidified their bond—more like created a soulbond if they were being technical about it—had caused a secondary bond. The four were now a tightly bound pack. Two alphas, a banshee and a spark. If they walked into a bar, they had the beginnings of a good joke there.

Derek shook off his musings. “You are correct. They headed back to Beacon Hills to look for Peter. They also are going to help Scott out with the possible Alpha pack problem. Deucalion won’t infringe upon Hale territory if he knows there’s a Hale there to claim it.”

Stiles had had a few shaky moments after the bond with Laura and Lydia had settled and Derek watched him closely now. His mate didn’t seem particularly wobbly or weak. Derek squeezed Stiles’s hand and was rewarded with a shy smile.

Derek was grateful Stiles didn’t ask why Peter, also an alpha, hadn’t claimed the territory, because he didn’t have an answer. All’s he had were questions with no answers when it came to his uncle. Did Peter bite Scott? Why did he visit Stiles in lock-up? Why did he save Derek from Kate? His thoughts were like an ouroboros, head chasing its tail in a never-ending circle, until his brain felt like combusting.

Then he looked Stiles and his worries melted away. He face-palmed; he was turning into a walking cliché.

“You’re my sappy wolf, aren’t you?” Stiles was the one to squeeze Derek’s hand, lending him physical support through his touch. “Hey. You know I wouldn’t change anything right? I hesitate to use the word karma but I feel like I had to be right at a certain place when I met you for everything to turn out like this and this…this is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Oh my God. If I’m sappy what does that make you? Actually you ought to be Sappy Spark. Or Sparky Sap? And I would be Winsome Wolf.”

“Barf. Seriously? You need to kill the alliteration right now.”

Both men smiled at each other.

The doorbell chimed and they automatically turned to see the new customer; the man was skinny with an orange Giants cap, navy hoodie, and dark sunglasses. It was the dark sunglasses that set off Derek’s internal warning bell. It was dark so unless the man was severely hungover—or blind—the sunglasses boded ill.

Derek pushed to his feet. “Here we go again.”

Stiles was still clutching Derek’s hand, which made him look down at him, arching his eyebrow in silent question.

The younger man licked his lips, this time out of nervousness. “Please be careful. And don’t play the hero. Remember, you’re wolf-hearted, not lionhearted.”

Derek smirked, summoning all of the bravado he could to get a smile out of Stiles. “You, fair damsel, stay here. Out of the line of fire. I’ve got this.”

With an eye roll, Stiles let go of Derek’s hand and crossed his arms over his chest. “By all means. Have at it. My fragile human body might not withstand the bullets in the gun he has stashed in the front pocket of his hoodie.” Stiles squinted through his glasses while staring toward the man making his way to the front counter. “Then again that might not be a gun in his pocket.”

Pressing his lips into a straight line to keep the chuckles at bay, Derek replied. “You keep your eyes, and your hands, to yourself Sparky Sap. As soon as I take care of this I vote we head home.”

The two men gazed at each other fondly. Then Stiles’s mouth contorted into a wide grin. The kind that made Derek want to proclaim his love for him to anyone who would listen. Until he opened his mouth. “I’ll see you’re head home,” his fingers made air quotes around the last two words, “and raise you a head,” this time he mimed jerking off Derek.

“Stop, just stop. That double entendre was just awful. Now sit back and watch Wonder Wolf at work.”

“That wasn’t a double entendre, that was sexual innuendo. Now scoot. I want to get home some time soon.”

Erica was looking harassed so Derek made himself move away from Stiles’s side. He not only could smell the love, warmth and humor the other man was giving off but he could feel it radiating through the bond.

Stiles had definitely called it earlier. Derek didn’t have to like all of the things that had happened to his mate: being possessed, cut off from his family, losing his mind. Derek was so relieved the band was playing the same tune for Stiles now; his heart broke a little each time he remembered Stiles describing life before meeting Derek. This—holding Stiles’s hand, talking about their families, feeling him through the bond, hot sex—would never have happened if all of the other shit hadn’t gone before.

Derek whistled to himself as he approached the counter. Once he dealt with this loser he could take Stiles home and have his wicked way with him. He could smell Stiles’s arousal; the band was definitely on the same sheet of music this time around.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. When I completed my first line for bingo, I started looking at my card and seeing what else I could do. I had a line that seemed to lend itself to all five prompts in one story--Hallucinations, Interrogations, Unexpected Consequences of Planned Soulbonding, Robbery and Nervous Breakdown. Back up...Unexpected Consequences of Planned Soulbonding? Which one of these is not like the others? I played fast and loose with everything Teen Wolf to create this, perhaps my longest solo story to date.
> 
> Thank you for spending your time on reading this story.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post to AO3 so if you feel I've missed important tags please let me know.


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